#dramatic john watson

Sometimes when the silence fills me like a half empty glass, disgurded by the pile of dirty dishes... my eyes glue themselves to my revolver. When the damp, cold drizzle from the empty winter morning crawls it's way under my skin I remember the hollowness that resides inside me. When the immoral static metal is the only warmth around me, I remember when I kissed the barrel, caressed it, holstered it by my side day and night... I remember my love affair with death and how I wish for nothing more than her calming embrace. I am a fool for not taking her hand when she was interested me and I long for nothing more than all I gave up.