Thursday, July 12, 2018



Never ask a question
you already know the answer to.
Ask for who?
Who's the friend?
You contend with denial
to see how much
can be tucked under the cloak
as if those secrets weren't provoked.
As if the concealed won't appeal
to the chance to have you
choke on your words.
Spoke what they heard
until it seems absurd
to be granted your measure
of air.
To spare no lie
is to die in the moment.
Atonement too high an expense.
Too intense of a compliment
is consequence to confidence
and the contrast implied
is that common sense
finds its way to you

A lie soaked in sympathy.

Your Are Not Listening.

Never ask where it went
while it remains in your possession.
Therein lies the lesson:
Misdirection does less harm
to the misinformed
than those charmed by secrecy.

Decency has no place in this.

The lake
The abyss
given the location
are only distinguished by light,
lack of
and the time of day.
The hideaway where one resides
can never say
that where others confide and pray
is less deserving of a timed delay.
The demon that stalks the night
will still prey upon the day.
Havoc is haphazard
and hell ignores the schedule. 

Speaking in time;
not of the end times.
Not of the last days.
No certain pathways
hinged on relieving your soul
of the impending.
Incredible that we who see
are not perceived as prophets
until the rose dies under rockets... 

I'm not woke
I'm no "Hotep"
if that offends you,
rise up.
Outgrow that.
I'm not blowback.
I won't grow that hedge
around you
just to say "I Told You."
I don't know you
you don't owe me
so before you show me
what sensitivity looks like
when dunked in retort,
proofread that report. 

Listening Now? 

Don't pretend to wonder how
when your otherwise betrays you.
Your eyes drift in caution;
feigning the casual glances.
Your movement serves you poorly
as if grace and precision
thought it best to abort the mission.
Trivial condition all too common
to the perpetually slalom among you;
dodging the straight and narrow
like a chamber and barrel
at point blank distance.
Resistance affirmed
in all your might
yet you squirm in the light.
Night retires


Darkness remains..... 

.... like weeds in the sunlight
from which they were sprung
to twist and choke
until lopped off,
pulled up
and flung.

Just like your tongue.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Time Between"

"Time Between" 

"Hey Stranger..."
Phrase I've heard
countless times before
but never from you.
Cliché as it is
centered around fabrication...
...the groundless inclination
to feign that you've missed me.
Risky the tactic.
Contemptuous as a habit
so frivolous and fake
for the sake of pretentious planning
as if your understanding would ever
allow you to convince me
that I was missed by you
so I am one of the few
to say

"What do you want?"

"Hey Big Head..."
An untimely phrase that always
seems to come about when you've
finally reached a good place.
Inserted in an unprecedented
fashion where it need not be applied
because this scenario isn't applicable.
It would seem that the
security you procured while
you were here has faded away.
Reluctant your return to which
you thought would still be intact.
But my intuitive senses
sense danger afoot.
Tingling in my nervous system
alerts me to your ulterior motives.
Dare I say but inclined to ask,

"New life, Who's this?"

and who misses interruption?
As time passed,
you rewind past
and conjure empty introduction
as if memory will forsake me.
From "We haven't talked lately"
to "I still love you, baby."
This confused loop is crazy.
I don't even want to know
how far back that flash was
that you still love to flaunt and show.
Time dead as the last cause
and yet you still find more to go
along with your corroded basis.
Deal of pain the rain acidic
washing over your basic ambition.
No transition.
All the way abrupt and forceful.
Lies well in the eyes
still seeking refuge in my torso.
Lips that draw the lines
lubricated by the morsels
collected in memory.
A play on affinity.
As lonesome as trends can be.
Still lost on your intent for me.

Sometimes.. The grass is
greener on the other side.
But you have to patrol the dating
pool and wet it to see if it'll grow.
By choosing to do such, you basically
stated that my soil was barren.
Quite the contrary.
Because, in fact, you
choose not to nurture it.
Peeking over the fence
to see the process
in which my progress
is taking place.
Fret not.
Death comes swiftly
in the night time.
.. or daytime ..
Depending on when you thought
is was a good idea to impede on
what once was ours to share.
"Love don't live here anymore!"
I believe, all things considered, you
figured the imprint you left on me
would put me in a coma like state.
Yet, what remained were sleepless
nights awaiting your untimely return.
Cringe worthy the second, minute, hour
you finally decided to waltz back in.
The archaic terms now in which
you speak are greatly outdated.

Snapshots softly faded in sunlight.
Some might hazard a glance
and become entranced
by the smiles
but enhanced are the wiles
while the truth hangs in the frame.
Where one struggles recalling names,
I remember every moment
I've no way to be absolved of.
Spent those years trying to solve love
like it was the problem
that we make it to be.
Didn't make it with me.
Only naked we see
that nothing makeshift can be
worth all the vagueness made glee
just to give you some excuses
for conversing brief and useless.
Don't brush away intent so ruthless
to act like you want to do this. 

Bye, Stranger.


Written By: Twin Monks (Eric Gumas and Devin Joseph Metz)

Thursday, June 14, 2018

"Strobe Lights"

"Strobe Lights" 

Fighting my menace like kids at the dentist but now all my sentences run on...

This feeling often unexplained
but fully expected.
Heard you speak of the neglected
like either of us
was ever
good to ourselves.
Lost you in the haze.
In this maze.
Chased the daze
because clarity is hilarity.
You call it catharsis.
There aren't this many people
in one place
like ever.
Should we go?
Would I leave?
You appear sick of it,
I suppose.
Who knows
once we break skin and take in and begin between the murmur and the slur and the babble and the ramble and the run on... 

... come on.
We're too far up there
where we chose to fare
to care about
and rant about
and yell
and shout
the doubts I've come to see
as absolutely foreign to me
once a dose kicks in.
Colors look gross mixed in
the contents of the glass
but pass for acceptable
when passing through receptacles
we can view from a distance.
Milligrams between instance
and the next instant
finds us surrounded with the room spinning.
"The beginning of this again..."
you spit through frowns amid my grin
as if being here was a sin
and there's a penance for admission.

This was our tradition.
Conditions I can't see...
Felt like you should feel me.
I fall in love
with you
all over again
every time our blood streams
from exposed veins.
Tainted bloodstreams.
I'd hear screams
if not for volume
and the space between.
I can only glean vibration and flash.
Swept up is trash.
Hapless is cash
I'd sooner spend on glass
that would be broken thereafter.
I swear I hear laughter
but am befuddled
by the tears in your eyes.
There's some passion in our rhythm
but yours is........violent.
Less dance floor than addict.
So much made of the habits
one stands to be reminded of...

Not the glove
but closely fit
for the benefit of smiles
from the subconscious stairs I climb
in my submersion sublime;
gathered from down deep
to creep higher.
I've peeled fliers
and made time
and worn tires.
I don't own ties... 

..... living as plain as my clothing but plain is a scolding reminder that old things will wither and fade so I saved up for shades just to enhance my look like the way I appear matters. Not to them but to you because honest and true, I love looking at you but if caught in a stare, I'd notice you there... 

.....watching me fighting my menace like kids at the dentist as sentences ramble and run on as I dance through despair.....but you're hurting there........
...................asking yourself if I even care
at all. 

The colors.
A beautiful distraction
until they aren't. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Thursday, May 24, 2018

"Different Toilet"

"Different Toilet"

Freedom ain't free.
It won't pay the bills
so you have to pay ...

for the right to kneel.
Opinion ain't cheap.
That's some over time
so you might find
that you'll owe me over time.
Why talk when you run
not walk
on my dime?

Just make sure that production
matches that 40 time.

Out of my mind
but still in my head.
Forgot some bullshit
and wrote this instead.
Somehow we flunked
but there was no test.
Rest reserved for the sunken:
Don't wake up, Mr. West.

Lying like shit:
"Yeah, I did my best."
Somewhat selective
when getting things off my chest.
Maybe we don't really care
at all.
I embellish the climb
but I love to fall
and I love to bawl.
Big tears.
Drawing on the fears
of those far more legitimate.
Opinionated Ignorant
with no punches pulled
and a bunch of abrupt and full assumptions
flung with gumption
so you'll think I'm all about it.

You'd do well to doubt it

but don't bother.
It's clouded.
Just shrouded.
I'm bout it
but I'm not.
Pouted when I got the word.

Wanted to be heard
but let me hide my face first.
Trip if you take a sip
but I got my taste first.
I'll talk about the teen
that was treated like a convict
but only if I've seen
all the likes and the comments.
Don't like the plug
so I might just snub.
Click bait for culture.
Post and tweet subs.
Hash tag the cause
so you know it's pure.
Challenge ten friends
then walk for a cure.

Can't cut a check.
I endorse neglect.
Why stick out my neck
for some shock effect?
Am I not the best version
of aversion?
A deliberate diversion
from the assertion you think I've applied?
Have I lied
or just watered down the truth?
Does life really matter to me?
Am I stranger than the fruit?
Am I possibly the problem?
Am I living what I rue?
Is there shame in this reflection?
Am I contradiction?
Am I..........


.......... you?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Thursday, May 10, 2018

"I Contact"

"I Contact" 

She was........... a memory
that does not fade between blinks.
An affirmation
rather than an apparition
that dreams can be touched.
In silence even,
I note the inflection in her voice
when she speaks out after me;
quickening my blood
whilst giving priority to my abrupt halt.
There is no folly.
No feint.
No fault to her embrace.
Still admittedly confused
and sufficiently embarrassed
to have a face slick with tears
most times when she appears.
She is my portion of truth
encased in a semi sweet
measure of chocolate
for the service of disproving
that notion of foreboding
that always accompanies uncertainty.
Most certainly,
happy thoughts are
sought after
and fought for
and taught for the purpose of aspiration
but my inclination
toward her
carries more familiarity than unknown intrigue.

She swings and spins and slides about
and her scent transforms
that tinge of doubt
into a swell of impatience.
I breathe in
and am left anxious
for the exhale is far longer
than I believe it should be.
To a degree,
what I see
is nowhere near as mouth moistening
as what I breathe in
when she gleefully twirls and spins
in front of me again.
.........again would take forever
and I still wouldn't forget her.
No forfeiture
of the rich and sweet
brush of unlikely winter bloom
that takes expanse in my lungs
after claiming the entire room.

or behind
she would sometimes loom
before lending her fingers
to me
like meals were to be replaced
by her taste.
Trace of fruit first cut.
Freshly sliced
then iced to mellow.
As sweet as sticky...
Fragrant flavor a rush of lust
indicative of hunger pains.
All but plain coincidence.
Famished state sated progressively
like that of slow burning incense
on the mantle.
Dared to handle another portion.
Fed me like needy passersby.
I'm just glad I caught her eye. 

If description were capable enough,
I'd compare her in detail
to the best thought
one would hope to remember
and lament over if ever forgotten.
A fountain overflowing
past proximity
with energy rarely conceived
in base understanding.
From where I'm usually standing,
to be overwhelmed is natural;
questioning the actual
for the sake of disbelief.
Hard to imagine that which
once was chief in my consciousness
ever being a compliment
to the presence she now claims
Fit for a throne
but more endearing Indian style
atop my pile of veiled
yet astonished thoughts
seemingly escaping the realm of secrecy.
That vision clings to me
like I could touch
what eyes could see.
One should be so fortunate.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Sunday, April 22, 2018



Console there
between legs and fingers.
Taught arms to reach
but hesitation lingers.
from the skies
to her thighs.
No surprise.
Taunted by temptation
and the ominous inclination
to one's physical interpretation
of a slew of slick talk.
That shit talk
where shit walks faster
than he did to the car.
Would've been the bar
just to ease some tension
but the promise was performance
and the utmost attention.


Stayed up late
til their lust was slaked.
Used to masturbate.
Now they navigate.
Now they plan their dates.
Moon mingles with the lake.
Left out late
so they park in the park.
Still really late
so they sit in the dark. 

Cumbersome skirt.
No underwear on.
Basketball shorts.
No underwear on.
Simple small talk
with the radio on.
Unspoken thoughts
through a few love songs. 

Tracing the past
with her legs crossed tight.
Reviewed her intent
and it all felt right.
Recalling their last.
His drawstring gripped tight.
Attentive to her nervous banter
as he reclines through the night. 

Console there
but there is no impedance.
No true barrier
to lend some credence
to what would behoove
the stall in the first move
to create a window
and fog up windows
to dip his chin low
and feel when she blows. 

No hesitation.
Just what was due.
Some drops. A few.
Some residue.
Some morsels left
among so few.
Remaining stains
that time maintains.
Evidence they've gained
of the mess they've made.
A strand.
A string.
Such flimsy things
shared in solitude.
Some memory. 

Just molecules between them. 

Nothing else. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Saturday, April 21, 2018



Fire still rolling down south.
Smoke rising up from the east.
Ashes swept up in the west.

These are all symbols at best.
Lest we say
that we'll burn today
and agree that way,
don't assume this room.
Don't assume your matches
and the bricks it clashes against
will ever breach some line of defense
you've convinced yourself I've built up
for you.
Played the guilt up
for who?
Called a bluff
then you blew
but it didn't go out
for you.
Now you need someone to blame.
Searched your pocket for names
you've hoped would survive the flame.
A host for what you became:

Pretentious Pyro maniac
claiming that
the worst of your untamed flame
only burns as much as the blame
and perceived shame
you've saved for me.
Save for the
burnt ends of thee
you thought you fed to me
smothered in synthetic love
you've served to me
without the gloves
that vengeance provided.
Contact with your skin
and you can't hide it.
Scorched and scarred the surface
right where it collided.

Fire still rolling down south.

Words you spat out
you could've cooled
then swallowed.
Melted your heart down,
scooped it out
then hollowed.
Texts without periods or commas
but I know
that after burning grass dies,
fresh dirt won't follow.

Smoke rising up from the east.
Daydreams and goals at least.
Visions of travel and peace.
Sign from the skies
that your eyes can't hide from.
No more surprise
than where you draw denial from.
Visualization of the future between us.
What once was a glimmer
is a dark void and I can't see us.
You need the conflict,
and distrust
just for the attention
and there still won't be us.

Ashes swept up in the west.

Folk that you speak of in jest.
Places to be
that you won't go to.
People to see
and they don't know you
but they know of
and they know love
and they know what isn't.
Things they heard of
that you've said
but "didn't."
Your display of your pain
and my betrayal
that isn't.
No fingerprint on my affairs.
You want me to care
and you won't get it.

Distinguish between
the explosion and extinguished.
Use English when you aim
and keep the wick tame
or that anger will maim
all the same.
That's apparent.
Worth it to suggest
that you stir more and boil less
on being a controlling parent
than on being transparent.

Fought me for years
through toil and test.
Singe to my ears
and fire to my chest.
You've churned through to burn
what was left of the rest
just to claim what remains


but those are symbols at best.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Tuesday, March 27, 2018



Will you sit here with me
in the dark?
Next to me
surrounded by the
constant crash of what we are told
is too bold or cold or crass
to cast one's attention to.
Mingle with my fear
and my tears
and emotions that others
hold no retention to.
Be with me
in the middle of chaos.
Amid the disarray
that we pretend each day
is a little more organized
like the unruly is classified
and categorized
as if something we schedule
to set aside and manage.

Will you lay here with me,
damaged as I appear?
Hear the chip and crack?
Feel the bruises undermined?
The "Never mind?"
The "Don't come back?"
Can you find a reason to stay
even when I'd rather not say?
When I don't want to play?
When I don't want today
and won't look at tomorrow?
Will your failure to fill the void
turn you away?
Keep you at bay?
What would you say
if I told you
that I know you aren't the answer
so I've no desire to ask a question?
I'm in no need of suggestion
nor protection.
Remain with me
circled by projections
of the hesitant and the rushed.
The warmth of trust.
The cold emptiness of lust.
See the journey toward a phantom
conceptualization of fulfillment
filled with self applied lies
and the silence of voices
that are merely waiting to resurface
so they can feed on my cries.... can try
but I wouldn't blame your refusal.
A forehead kiss
the meager dismissal
I've grown all too aware of.
"It won't be alright."
"It won't be okay."
"It will not end today."
Things you'd do well to say
but we are taught
the proper niceties of comfort.
Endearment is a bruise
upon the flesh of fruit
we are taught to eat without questioning.
Our reckoning in season
reasoned between teeth, tongue and cheek
and we aren't given to speech
until we swallow that bite

but politeness will not rule
and we don't have to fight 

so will you join me tonight?
Here where night and day don't share.
Here where the absent and unaware
and those who couldn't care less
are replaced with we who are caressed
by discomfort and dismay
and the words we can't say
in any conceivable way
too loud among crowds
bound to see us as foul
and disgusting.
Thoughts hinged on mistrust
thrust in front of us
against walls we can't see
but feel certain are displayed.
Viscous liquids sloshed and played with
smattered across it all
for no one to see.
Confined and closed yet free.
Already all we need to be.
So even when light refuses me,
I wonder still:
where vision lacks,
in the black of it all, 

will you sit here with me
in the dark? 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Thursday, March 15, 2018

"Left, Too"

"Left, Too" 

I am not what you thought you'd see.
Searched in your selected light.
Hidden better than in darkness.
The hardships you've undermined.
Glimpses in passing time.
Squint and you still won't find
an ounce of me
that you'll manipulate
Planned for me
but acted late.
Stockpiled decree to saturate
but did not suspect.
Did not expect
that I'd be one to elevate.
My ascension to the zenith
you'd demean with foreboding.
Distrustful means
that are the steam
I've gathered to roll over.
As it happens,
I should flatten you
who've fattened yourself well
from my nightmares.
From my hell.
Thought you'd know well
not to sow your spells
over the same wells
you would draw from in thirst.

Me first.

That was the fear,
Conjure my tears,
In confidence you'd spare nights
to make my competence a near sight
and a far fetched reality.

No parity.
Just limitation.
Deliberate debilitating prescribed
so that I would subscribe
but never subsumed.
Present in the room
but blocks away from the table.

I am unstable.

Not far behind
the shattered mind.
Not well in front
of thoughts as blunt
as the ones you fear I'd act upon.
We haven't gone the distance
but don't fret.
You'll see me coming
and will try to get away
but there's the floor.
Crawl some more.
Hope and pray
that I delay.
Put my assured nature in sway.
Had me question what things to say
when my heart knew that to break away
meant I should act as I may;
Not how you wanted.
The tutor is now the taunted:
by that which you've flaunted
all for naught
and before it ends,
I'll have you sprawl
and crawl

just like I had to.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Right To

"Right To"

Not what I had in mind.
Not sure I know
what's in there
Many a day spent wondering
how many stand to judge
when in my honesty,
I probably wouldn't dare to nudge.
Pushed more now these days internally
than I ever was in youth.
The only difference?
There's no peer pressure
to mask the truth
that veiled beneath indifference
are these chiseled cracks
widened by anxiety
loathing privately what I lack.
and the compensation I enlist
is no small feat.
No conceived tryst.
Bound my own wrists
to run the risk
of forgetting all I've learned
just to quell some of the burn
but some embers
can't be stamped out.
Misfortune states
to stand out
is to be exposed as nothing.
That's worth something.
I suppose if closed,
I won't have to
I don't have to
or toil in shame
and wonder why. 

This in mind,
none else could bear it.
This is mine.
Why should I share it?
Far behind
where thought and care sit,
I view the blind
that couldn't see fit
couldn't see shit
unless it served purpose
for me
has long been a concept
that I've come to believe
has not so much as
eluded my grasp
but rather
one I was tasked with
the abandonment of.
Ironic how an act
so iconic
could in turn fulfill a purpose
by denying the very definition

This is not what I had in mind.
In mine,
this tingling in my spine
is more sense of urgency
than the solemn certainty
that I should steal away.
I'd feel my way through passion
and impart more of a reaction
than the predetermined flinch
but unless that happens
in a pinch,
I'll remain here
just plain here
on plains here.
Window panes where
on this plane
of thought where
I painstakingly wonder
if I'm even a little

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Wednesday, December 27, 2017



Rich, syrupy sting
slick and smoky
as such things
take less time for me
than most to acquire a taste for.
Chased only by the wayward
for another.
An extra portion.
An additional instance
Another chance to explore.
Repeating in frequency
the exhilarating experience
of tipping you over
just to draw you fresh
just to drain that glass
just to lick that corner.

That rim.

"That's him."

Faithful favorite patron
served during and after hours.
After ours deplete
and stools fail to support me
in the manner that sheets would...
Cheap, wooden tables
where one sulks and trade fables
in neglectful fabrication,
My regretful inclination
is that I don't regret enough
to turn away.
Smooth, silky nectar
here to singe regret away,
drown my fret
and keep the rest at bay....
Hint of you on bottom lip
to dictate my thoughts throughout the day.
Attention slipped.
The switch is flipped
and I can't wait to find my way.
Eyes tracing hips with every sip
for hours with nothing to say.
Mind taking trips.
That spigot dips
and we play in the disarray.

Every last drop. 

I'll do my best to earn that.
Heard that last call
and saw you
pretend to count cash.
Heavy eyes at half speed
only blew past glances to read
your true purpose.
Best service this side of my
dirty mind...
Finding time as fast
as you did that fresh glass
I've left filthy
for the fourth time
this week.
Rosy cheeks confirm
how firmly lowered eyes
have leveraged themselves
just to disrobe.
Just to tip over.
Neat and warm.
Never cold
When I tip you over.
When I draw you fresh.
When I drain that glass.
When I lick that corner. 

When I palm that ass,
forget that glass
and drink every single
silky drop. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Wednesday, December 20, 2017

"Depth For The Shallow"

"Depth For The Shallow" 

Scene in time before
seen in mind
where chimes are ignored
and thoughts implored
long after exploration.
One's inclination
to the misfortune
of the sudden
sullen hesitation
is motivation aplenty
to move quickly in purpose.
Purported as
actions ill fated
when consequences are slated.
Tossed about and away
for today's version of
right now
right away
nothing more to say
with the space between shared air
filled and accounted for.
Counted more in regret
than I ever did in risk involved.
A puzzle not yet solved
left for the voluntary thinker.
Deliberate tinkerer
casting attention to beforehand,
therein, herein
and thereafter.
I familiarize and sympathize
only after feigning laughter
in an attempt to quell my shame.
My name a thinner shell
spoken to me in confliction
rather then when sipping
from the dripping well
designed to make our conceived hell
fit to endear before the tears.
Years alone by choice
whilst the fear in my voice
implies the true tenor of my nature.
We seek favor but run blind.
We chase calm while self maligned.
Our dilemma deftly defined
by what we kept
and left behind...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

"A Sky's Distance"

"A Sky's Distance" 

as wide as your
clasping the side
of the rail
with frail ambition.
Transition from
to pulsation.
No sedation
Before hands
beneath pillows that caught sighs,
mine found the fountain
that springs eternal
between thighs
where my eyes
if not closed
halfway, at least
would be rinsed during feast.
East of the
left leg
stands the headboard
creaking in rhythm.
West of the
hangs the mirror
collecting light
as if intended as
to disclose our most compromising display.
Delay no object
to one
nor two so deliberate.
Felt your warmth
at least an entire
in my mind
before ever getting this close...
Convinced that vision is accurate
and your flavor immaculate
and your grip so tight
that we risk what might
become of this
playful fight....
.... losing sight temporarily....
..... barely articulate.
The benefit
to a degree
of the measure of me
you've drawn out two times prior.

Fire and thirst.

The best of
my wanting you
in the worst way.
The first day
of not waiting
until nightfall.
Might fall in love.
Night falls.
We shrug.
Light crawls
as hugs
and rubs
and tugs
highlight darker intention.
like dimensions
never before reached
often thought of.
One of many nights
where I ignore slight
and it all feels real
because it all feels right
but it won't feel true
until I feel

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Tuesday, December 5, 2017



Depth from within
to the nape
from my chin
like a cape worn thin.
The sins perception manifested.
Curious the method
of those
that clamor to be clothed
by the light
that they still appear
in plain sight.
Nothing shields me at night.
This darkness no shroud.
No cloud covering
in hopes of preserving my name.
and shame
are public practices after all.
As sure as the wind calls near
carrying with it their misplaced fear,
one overhears
that darkness falls over you
as if intent on the malicious
where dissidents
consent to the vicious
call of something so fictitious.

The extent of their riches.
I derive from the delicious
never ending well
where yells
only incite the emboldened.
Not beholden to
what I can see.
No slave to what lies
in front of me.

What manner be
these shapes
on either side of me?
You'd hide from me.
You'd cry to see
and cringe to touch.
A bit too much for parted lids.
Behind the back
creature slid
who never hid.
Displayed her throne.

She's never there
but she's always home.
She's never here
when lights are on.
She's never there.
The sun has shown

but she's right there.
You're not alone
and you feel tips
like fingers
your mind thought would be claws.
Your mind
haunted by flaws.
You'll find it daunting
to pause 

but you've yet to advance.... 

you've convinced
that you can't see.

Darkness does not fall.
It instead envelops.
She caresses
crack and crevasse.
Short of bracelet.
Length of necklace.
Loose as blankets.
Tight as arms around the waist
of one longing to taste
from the nape
then the chin
to the depth within 

where the concept of iniquity
is merely an antiquity.
A relic collecting dust
furnishing lies told in a rush
of when one's fancy for lust
was less matter of time
or matter of trust.
Taught that naught is unforseen
therefore figment,
and dream.
Told that reaching between seems
without light is so unclean.
Told that darkness
where one weeps
goes away
when one gains sleep.

You say that shadows
are what light sweeps
but she still rests near
and I am the company she keeps.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Wednesday, November 8, 2017

"To Misplace"

"To Misplace"

Sorry for falling asleep
on the phone last night.
I've been weeks
without nights
and saw the perfect opportunity
to pretend your words
were news to me
when they aren't even new
to me.
I'm sure that came out wrong...
...I think aloud frequently
so I apologize for that.
I apologize for even having to
and have felt contrite for having you
for longer than anticipated.
I know that sounds so antiquated
much like what I'll say eventually
but from when you first befriended
I thought it best to be
proactive when removing infinity
from that exquisite position on the table.
spoke in fables
is the most sought after
form of unrealistic
and I get physically sick
from trying to mix it
with every day shit
so while I'm still somewhat able
and because my heart says so,
you should know
We let it run deep..... weren't my all....
.....but you were my only one.
I'm afraid to fall asleep.
The fear is in that fall
so I reach for my only one....
..........but like I said,
that's my head
and why I keep it covered
below clouds that like to hover
making my somber thoughts obvious
like the one where
I speak with loneliness
and she asks me
to remedy
but I always say
"There's only us."

It's hidden in the way
those words hang
and drip
from your lips
that cause me to stumble
much like tripping down stairs
while drunk... heart sunk
I'm sinking deeper into
the way
those simple words cut.
Let's keep it real.
Stunted emotions
can only grow within
hearts when given proper care.
Not to be unfair
but do you really care?
I know you've heard that before
so before we make this a chore
we'll both regret...
...let's just take two steps...
I'd never retract my feelings
but until infinity
seems a little never ending story
to me
Like childhood fairytales
with afters that are happily
invested in selling endings.
Sappy romance isn't my thing...
...I tell myself and pretend
not to notice your reaction
to the credits at the
of our allegory.
But you should know
before you go
I've fallen in deep... weren't my all...
....but you were my chosen one.
I'm scared to turn off the lights.
My fear lies in the dark
so I look for my chosen one... remember when I say,
you're welcome to stay
until the break of day
beyond twilight's last bit of grey
when our logic is exhausted
our hearts are no longer cautious
and I ask you
to remedy
just tell me
"There's only us."

We weren't shaped for this world.
Even if the feeling
that of resting
against the side wall
that feels like the ceiling
when we wake up
isn't enough to take up
the recurrent discomfort
consistently imbued
that playfully jumps
from me
to you
and back again.
Back from when that
offered some sense of revival...
...some scent of survival...
...something once so vital
I now couldn't bare to say.
Told that I should pray
before I think
before I act
but I tire of the tact.
Looking for a pass
just to dance on glass
I have extended my limits
and cannot reach beyond fatigue
so the good fight
is now the seed crushed
and slid across concrete
so before the raised feet
makes display of the incomplete,
just remember
at your peak
should've never run deep... weren't my all
but you were my only one.
Let the past sleep.
Let it all fall.
was the only one....

We weren't made for promises.
But remember when
you promised
me prominence?
Now we stare into the distance
while our hearts
feign feelings quite the opposite.
Have we become
crumpled like the sheets on the floor.
Will we both come back...
searching for more.
Promising to ignore what
sits idle
feeding into our deprival...
...waiting for the sun's arrival...
...this goodbye will be our final.
Did I dream the idea of you?
Did lust obscure my view
before I choose
before I exit
let's spend it wisely.
Promising that the imagery
of this room will become memory
I have rescinded my invite
and will not exceed capacity
my struggle ends here
and the key cannot be retrieved
make no mistakes
before you take your leave
at our peak
will always run deep... weren't my all
but you were my chosen one.
Let's go back to sleep.
Let's continue to dream.
will never be the only one.


Written By: Kiana Fitzpatrick and Devin Joseph Metz

Saturday, October 14, 2017

"'03 Junior Year"

"'03 Junior Year" 

Save room for the commas
and incomplete expressions
somewhat heavy for the conscious hand.
Given to the thoughts
I've kept secretive
like contraband
trapped within the heart.
Emotion is where it starts
but I need more productive ends.
Suggestions from friends abound
at least until I look around
and see what slips.
It's falling down
barely resembles charity
confusion and hilarity mesh.
Voices that calm and caress
cracked and calloused now
chipping away at the brow
I guess because it hurts to think.
Each blink a recurrent notification.
A stab of recollection.
Sharp jab in one direction.
Denounce in flat inflection.

Homemade torture plainly

and although I see it mainly,
I am ashamed to realize
that my closed eyes
do not facilitate the dodging.
Quiet center dislodging but
barely even a frown
to make public my defeat.
This process I repeat
a handful of times
before leaning
beside the door after sweeping.

Fed the belief
that leaping and weeping
share the tip of one blade
so I retreat to the shade
what little progress is made
of thought.
Stricken without passion displayed
so those ideas delayed
are now just wishes for
which I've fought less for
than against those that mock me.
Was not born to be punchline
but I'd rather hunch
and hide face
than to punch my way
into a place
where I'm convinced things matter.
Discerning which things matter
enough to counteract
before my surface cracks
under their
drilling completely.

Discreet disguised as
"uniquely different"
while their public personal blows
and poke
and push me past my limit
but we live it well.
Presenting frail
and concealing inner strength
because I'm tired.
Concerned less with the act
than with the length
then I retire.

Saw that pretty girl
whose color twirls when she walks.
She's my desire
but if honest,
she's the furthest comet
so I squint to see her fire.

Went to grade school
with the jock
who pitches rocks
and asks professor favors
so that he can play later today
after inhaling vapors.
Thought that we were cool
and I his tutor
but I'm just the one he picks on
Algebra has him stressed
and he needs answers for the test.

At my best I go unnoticed.
At my worst they're unaware.
The year is over soon
and I think I'll grow out my hair.

My jacket
my yearbook signed
plus a completed pair of notebooks
that have recorded
every good
and bad
and ugly
and awesome moment
between classes
and the clashes
over action
and words never said.
Words that I swore
would be read to her
before the year is out
but not a whisper
nor a shout
would push between written letters.
Just overheard that she will transfer
next semester.

I hope to do much better
next year.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Monday, October 2, 2017



Pressed in time
like I'm pressed for time
just to press against yours.
Impression fine
but I need what's real
so I press,
as if next in line
ready to claim my fill
and I am gluttonous.
Wants perceived needy
and every bit as much expressed.
Standing to confess
that the stress of it all
thought quelled quite exquisite
with a call
or a visit
has reached past limits
no fervent institution could impose.
Why the rose must wither
before you come hither
is of lasting curiosity.
Perhaps I wear hypocrisy
as that of shrouded confusion.
A contusion
that remains until incision
can bring about some division
between myself
and what aims to hinder.
Sender of parcels
discreet as morsels I've become.
Passion sprung forth
like a drum
bashed and thrashed
in violent sensuality.
Speaking casually... art for the timid.
I it's former purveyor.
I now mingle with the danger
that another few might see.
Let them observe
so long as you hear me.
Love leaving its trace
among the places we'd fancy.
fastenings ajar and loosened.
Have I proven my thought's worth?
Has facade become the hearth
on which apprehension might smolder?
Has one's search for hearts as lenders
kept me from what I've divined?

Yes I'm fine.
Don't let doubt hold you.
Prone to daydream
as I've shown you
but if dreams
could line the walls,
I'd be speechless after all

just left to think about you...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Friday, September 15, 2017

"A Requiem For Reciprocity"

"A Requiem For Reciprocity" 

Do you remember
your first time?
Saying it in your head
or thinking out loud..
Trying to say it out loud..
Like, "I'm In Looooo......"
But you just can't
bring yourself to say it..
Words stuck in your throat like fresh Popeyes biscuits..
Mouthing the words
isn't sufficient..
You need to let her know..
Because not letting
her know would be an
omission of said affection..

Quick to compare perfection
to her milky complexion
as if the former couldn't hope
to hold a light to her.
Wouldn't fight for her
before now
when the fight was just
to see how long
before imaginative thoughts
stemmed from perceived positions
on the couch
became more fluid with each shout
I've heard in silence.
Timeless this temperamental tirade
I've gained by loss in a trade
for the simplicity of affection....
Maybe our direction
in the pursuit of perfection
has stirred this tension between us....

Time passes in a timeless fashion.
Seconds, minutes, hours
feel like months and years.
Compilation of euphoric moments
condensed into brief instances.
Doing things seen as uncharacteristic
because, quite frankly, I loooooo...
... Just cause it's Tuesday.
Which I'd like to use as euphemism.
Showered with material
things which serve as a
masquerade for my true intent.
Shallow veneer, I'd admit.
But what is one to do
when the words formed in
my brain won't accurately
articulate themselves

feelings are benign.
Just ripples in time that aren't clear
until we stand still.

Life is always moving.
Is proving myself to you
really moving myself a few
meters closer?
Do your arms drape my shoulders
like they once did during embrace?
If I show but will not say,
will you still cover your face
in that pretentious cloak of indifference?
Isn't it the experience that remains?
Are the memories in chains
or can they claim a holiday?
If my actions are ignored,
what I say should be implored
even less.
I've thought to speak
but convey better in movement.
If one's voice trumps volition,
then we should look toward improvement...

I'll muster up the
courage one day.
But for now, I'll create a
circumference around my
heart and placing you on it's radius.
Position comfortably,
not a care in the world.
A bee line through your
complexities to unveil the real you.
Manufactured uncertainties would
dare you to think ill of my intent..
Unintentionally keeping
me two steps back..
But to no avail.
Ambition lackluster at best
because in the fringes of your
brain you know that I'm here for you.
Emotions spontaneously combust
amongst the battle between
what you see versus what you feel.
And me, in all my angst, will
someday unsheathe how I truly feel.
And you, in all your glory, will
know what it feels like to be in...

....and when then arrives,
I'd advise against
the inclination to shy away.
The least bit of refrain
would only serve
to break open
an already raw wound
with exposed nerves
worn much further
than the sleeve discloses.
What one might suppose is
that we've been forever.
"That's how old love acts."
"That's what years look like."
Even when we look right,
we've flown dangerously
close to the left.
Maybe at best,
this is what is made of we.
I guess it was meant to be....

Written By: Eric Gumas and Devin Joseph Metz
~ Twin Monks ~

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

"Across Lines"

"Across Lines" 

The plan
is to tear down this temple
for all that it is
despite what it resembles
until it floats about Atlantis.
Can't stand this symbolism
of the woefully miscalculated
statistics geared toward
a false sense of integration.
Enough smeared across the nation
to where some still think
that our fountains are as clean.
I mean
then I say
then I pray for understanding
but for the time,
I'm landing in the middle.
In the mist.
In the midst
where molotov meets riot gear
and fear mates with anger
conceiving danger
with a complexion that favors the hapless.
The had less
have less
patience for the percentage.
Can't hear another story.
Won't read another sentence
about those sentenced to death
before addressing the threat.
Before pleading for oneself.
Before ignoring the steps
and being slammed against gravel
never reaching the gavel.
There will be crying when
Leviathan awakes
standing strong in the wake
of tiki torches burning state to state
that elate in trepidation
only to cringe when their relation
to oppression is disclosed.
Chose to
and all you stand for
if your stance means
to bring me to my knees.
I beg of you.
I've so much better to do
but time will stand still
for you
until I'm through
and I won't disjoint
just to make a point
nor will I disband
so that you're draped across my hands.
Not even.
The plan
is to make sure that even
will never again appear rigid.
Seething and Livid
when recalling every punch and kick,
every curse lined with spit
and every time you gave us shit
for our very existence....
......with bare hands
I will bring you down
brick by brick
until there is barely any room
for even hope to float.

I'm tired.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Wings That Won't Float"

"Wings That Won't Float" 

They fell like leaves
that have worn out their welcome
to an audience of confused wind.
The folding and bending....
.... some falls don't cease.
They decrease in ease
and there is no peace
and barely an ending.
If asking me,
the fall is what rules.
If asking you,
to fall is for fools. 

Faith never breached
so deep you could reach
no matter how deep
and pull out some pity.
Self imposed defeat
you've learned to repeat
and blame on your history;
never learning
that love is an answer
and life is a mystery.
Not the other way around.
So distracted in your search
on your perch
that they still plummet to the ground. 

What are your gifts worth anyway? 

On days like this,
a wish used to be sufficient.
Hope had more proclivity
but now,
you scoff at sympathy
as if you've landed already.
Your "balanced" calculations
a mere rationalization
of unsubstantiated selfish insecurities
hinged on likelihood
you likely would look to
adversely alter to your advantage. 

Please procure a bandage
or ten.

Yet again, 

amid the scratch
and the scrape,
the stitches,
the scotch tape
and all that effort
that once meant something to you,
you let them crash.
You find time for delay when asked
to recount some glimmer in your ink well
so they fell.
Favoring your back to display it
but what abruptly meets the pavement?
Stayed with your stave
as a slave to your disdain
as if to wear this pain
in layers that hide no smile....
....will they sit there awhile?
No summit for the somber storyteller? 

Can't weather a climate
quickly created for the wrong reasons.
Neither of the seasons
will grant such without forewarning.
Global warming didn't cast your cloud.
Conditions blatant.
Exclaiming your existence
given a level of persistence
that will not pay off this lifetime.
Like mine,
yours were meant for flying
regardless of how high you're climbing
or how wide and vast the distance
but now this instant
when you leap,
you'll claim no current as your seat
and those you've passed
won't see you complete
that fall from your perch
to claim the street. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Saturday, July 29, 2017

"Crimson Lake"

"Crimson Lake" 

As sure as Shinobi swings his blade,
this circumstance to which you're enslaved
will cost the loss of those accosted
in your ill fated persistence. 

The swan is only red
after it has bled. 

Harsh weather
formed the feathers
in the bed the Maiden lays in.
Ways and weird angles
astray as limbs dangle
over puddles thicker than origin.
Predicament sworn to sin
committed in repetition.
Never cared to listen;
even through the chaste
as if deliberate actions are not anchors
that make it easy for your past
to finally reach out and tarnish.
That coat you claim as varnish
no more than a bright target
in the dark for one to see. 

You are nothing because of me. 

The swan is only red
when it is severed from its head. 

Lifelong fondness and familiarity
can barely now be called an acquaintance.
The simplistic similarity
is the charity you will be denied.
Thought you knew when to hide
and when to lunge your beak.
That silence from whence you speak
sprung the first leak from your veins
to impart chains of damnation.
You will enjoy no liberation
while wrung between knuckle and fist.
You may bob to dodge
but round the wrist
your neck will lap
until the snap. 

Fitting, perhaps. 

Thought you'd respond to the slaps
that came after forewarning.
Conflict your anointing
and consequence your bread from Heaven
you run the risk of choking on.
Your grace? Your wiles?
Replaced by trials.
Would smile and used to sing awhile
but now,
no words were said.
Ruby ripples instead
no more luminous than rust on coral.
Air once fresh and floral
closer crept now to the fowl stench
and how drenched were you before
the ocean floor was yours instead?
The last of comfort in your dread
spent in the dirt near river beds. 

Your life proclaimed what was said:

The swan is only red
after it is dead. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz