ALL POEMS GO TO THEIR TALENTED AUTHORS (FROM TUMBLR)

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Sherlock: My anaconda don't

Sherlock: My anaconda don't

Sherlock: My anaconda don't

want none unless you're John Wat-son

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The man on the building wished his friend well

Smiling as from the building he fell.

His friend crumpled from the things unsaid

Crying as the phone line went dead.

He composed himself and ran to the scene

Desperately hoping that the ground would be clean

The man lay there on the ground

Everyone starting to gather around

As people ran to and to

The man pushed through the crowd "He's my friend, let me through."

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There was a time when the walls were covered in bullet holes,

and i used to curse you in the dark;

Now those bullet holes seem meaningless to me,

when compared to the hole inside my heart.

There was a time when the fridge held heads,

and human eyes and thumbs among the jam;

and i used to curse you out loud for all the mess

but now i see a mess is all that i am.

There was a time when furniture was disregarded,

and there were knives pinning letters to the fireplace;

i used to curse at you and all your shouting

But now there's silence and i start to forget your face.

There was a time when the violin was played,

At three in the morning i cursed you at the sound;

now all the silence feels heavy on my chest

And i spend nights searching for someone who can't be found.

There was a time when you made me cross the room,

and reach for your own coat to pass you your phone;

i used to curse at you for being lazy and unattached

but now i sit here for days on a row, without talking to a living soul.

There was a time when you wanted to change the rules of a game,

and i cursed you for wanting the world to be your own;

and now it's me who tries to bring you back from the dead,

and turn this house again into a home.