Poetry: Sherlock Fair

It’s a breakdown, rakedown of London crime

Cameras flashing buttons mashing overtime

Londoners shuffling in a zombie apocalypse

On the way in, breathe it in, feel it swell in like

Ice crystals over a sociopathic heart

Her grin sparkles in the dark

The game is at hand?

No wait it’s afoot

Stumbling out of the East End

It’s Sherlock Fair

She’s stunning look

I’m shook

Up with a need to hound like the best

Moments of life can only be #blessed

If an Army doctor from Afghanistan can’t find his rest

House remixed on the violin

Knees hit the ground in black torn jeans

Clinical, physical need to exceed

The limits of pure immediocracy

It’s a case full pace for detectives ace

Who exactly went missing last night on the moors?

The dog didn’t bark?

That’s the trick

She whispers

Gothic eyeliner styles and crimson tiles

It was always only

Murder on the dance floor

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