"Stealing From Yourself"

Stealing From Yourself


It would appear that past endeavors
have left you with an empty stomach.
Tis true that guilt is greedy
and there's no satisfying this lummox.
You tried your best to hide
behind the fairy tales and fables;
but guilt devoured your pride
leaving no scraps at your table.




Stolen kisses...
.....clever you:
One of the few 
that were able to subdue 
long enough to dash through
the chasm of long orgasms...
............to steal a kiss.


Stolen words...
nothing left for you to quote
after you openly smote me
for every word I wrote.
You ambitiously sought to deplete;
and can now only manage to retweet.


Stolen thoughts...
violently pillaged and trampled
through my mental fundamentals,
but conquering my complexities
will never be this simple;
because you will soon find
that you are blind to my mind.


Stolen.
Blatant, beligerent grand theft
of my heart's treble clef.
So now, it can't sing the agony
of a highway robber's tragedy
without seeming like a fallacy.


Stolen.
Snatched.
You slipped through the latch
and slowly lifted the hatch 
only for you to discover 
the belongings of another.
Highly confused, you stay
whilst I begin to slip away.


Your shock keeps you at bay
long enough for me to claim the day...
and every one that follows.
You've broken my locks,
smashed my windows with rocks,
and yet: you've never felt so hollow.


Quite the ordeal to process.
A rough pill to swallow indeed.
So much for your progress;
left to wallow where fate impedes.
You uprooted our foundation like weeds;
but now your wants have become needs.


Heartless thief that left
so many hearts to bleed...
you now require their generosity
to help you plant your seed.
Maybe some semblance of grace
will begin to seep through.
You just keep on hoping:
They may even feed you.


Wretched criminal of the heart:
do you want to impart your disdain?
Does the pain remind you of how
you hardly cared about their despair?


You've earned no phrases.
Not even an utterance.
You now find yourself governed
by that which you've scorned stubborn;
adorned in the same bloody cloak
that you have always worn.


It's no longer a game to you.
You're naked in your shame
in spite of the garments you maintain.
With nothing left to gain,
you stand still in your angst
only to eventually fall through.
Perdition is far from therapeutic;
so nothing can absolve you.


Guilt has come to feast again.
Scream all you want for help;
but empty words will go unheard
You stole solace from yourself. <3


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"The Company You Keep"

The Company You Keep

One afternoon, the young Pastor of a well known local church locked up his building after replacing a few fixtures inside. He then headed down the sidewalk about a block or two to the parking lot where his car was parked. He would make this walk every two or three days per week and would be greeted by little kids playing and elderly people sitting on their porch; but on this particular day, it was unusually quiet out; and not one person could be found anywhere in the area.

He got within one block from his church when he heard a woman scream. He stopped right where he was and stood still to see if he could hear the woman's voice again in hopes of finding out where it came from. A minute or so passed and no sound could be heard. Just then, he heard rapid footsteps that grew louder and faster as he stood there. Before he could react, however: he turned around to see a man dressed in a moist, dingy black sweatshirt and tattered jeans standing only a few steps away from him. He had a skull cap covering his face with the eyes cut out; which obviously implied that he was either a robber or much worse.

His assumptions were confirmed when he looked down to see the long, sharp, blood-stained machete tightly gripped in the man's hand. He was sure that the man would lunge out at him with the weapon; but to his surprise, the man instead removed his mask, stared the Pastor down for ten seconds or so, and darted past him down the street and around the corner. 

Completely befuddled by what has just transpired, the Pastor just shook his head and reached in his pocket in hopes of calling the police to report what he just saw. To his misfortune, however: his cell phone battery was completely drained; so he said a prayer to God for the safety of anyone else who should encounter the mysterious man and continued towards his car.

That evening, while eating dinner with his family, he overheard his television in the living room. The news reporter mentioned a masked murderer that was arrested and taken into custody around 3:36 p.m.; which happened to be about ten minutes or so after his encounter with the person. The man was reportedly responsible for the stabbing deaths of about seven people earlier that day. He stepped away from the table and into the room to view the person's face; and sure enough, it was the exact same person he encountered earlier that day.

Later on that night after his daily bible study with his family, he decided that he would go to the prison the next day to visit the man that he shared that awkward experience with in hopes of asking him a question or two. He arrived at the prison the next day a little after 12:00 that afternoon. The security guard accompanied him down the hall to the cells and stood outside the door while the pastor greeted the man from outside of the cell.

Still slightly confused about what happened a day earlier, he asked the man: "In light of what you were obviously up to yesterday, one thing still doesn't quite make sense to me: Why didn't you lunge out at me in the same manner that you did with those you've previously killed that day? Is it because you knew that I was a pastor and would feel a certain degree of guilt afterwards?" The man, still dressed in his same clothes, looked up at him and replied: "It wasn't guilt that saved you, man. The seven people that I killed earlier were all alone when I did so. No witnesses to be found."

"I had every intention of killing you as well; but you had too many people surrounding you."

Without saying another word, the young Pastor left the prison and headed for his vehicle once again. This time, however: His comfort was raised exponentially; because he knew that hedge of protection that he always preached about was much more than just a Sunday sermon.

Be mindful of the company you keep. It just may be the very company that keeps you alive.

"The Kitchen Table"

The Kitchen Table


I'm reaching for my cup
sitting high on the kitchen table.
You refused to help me up
because you knew that I were able.
You would greet me with a kiss
as you gently stroke my hair;
then you'd smile with confidence
as you point towards the chair.
It's like you were everywhere
that I ever needed you to be.
You always strive to keep me aware;
although I'm far too young to see.
When my stints of curiosity
seemed more than some could bear,
you always offered earnest generosity
and truly unconditional care.


Your trademark tempo has declined
due to issues with your back;
so I really don't mind
helping pick up some of the slack.
I've always had a knack
for consistency when handling chores;
but this higher rate of frequency
became much more than I could absorb.
I try my best not to complain;
although it hardly seems fair
to have house work accompany homework
while your own children are laying there.
They wouldn't lift a finger for much
outside of a beer bottle or blunt;
and when bills come to the forefront,
they disappear by the first of the month.


You knew that it wasn't right;
but you never really put up a fight.
You'd just allow them to stay here;
pacifying themselves with their plight.
This severely bothered me for years.
I truly couldn't stand the sight;
but my love for you kept me near
and I sat with you every night.
I never really slept much
when your health became an issue.
Some nights involved sugar attacks.
Others involved trash bags and tissue.
My days were usually spent
keeping your insulin needles handy
while nights involved keeping my brother
from eating your chocolate candy.


Time changed my point of view
and we started to grow apart;
but what always remained constant
was your spot reserved in my heart.
I'm seventeen years old
and college comes in a few months.
I've truly loved being here with you;
but this strain is entirely too much.
For weeks on end, you've tried your best
to coerce me into staying:
From guilt trips and tantrums
to words you'd never consider saying.
Tears rolled down my cheeks
as I helped my brother into the van.
I know you won't believe it right now;
but I've done all that I can.


The winds of late August
begin to violently blow.
The bridges are cluttered with cars
that gathered fast; but drive slow.
Uncle constantly kept us in the loop
while keeping you from the wind and rain;
but I know that although you were safe,
The house we loved absorbed the pain.
The roof was ripped and torn apart
by nature's malicious maelstrom.
I know that seeing this firsthand
placed your heart and mind in bedlam.
No matter how much we begged,
you consistently replied "No.";
but your wisdom eventually took over
and you knew it was time to let go.


As my Mother clutched the receiver,
tears swiftly streamed from her eyes
when finally given the news
that her brother was not found alive.
None of us had the strength
to divulge such woeful findings;
but true to form: your intuition
easily exposed what we were hiding.
Although I knew you'd find out soon,
I never knew the depth of it's impact.
You spent day after day in your room.
Your emotions were far from intact.
It angers me to see you like this,
but it wasn't hard to understand;
and with every good night kiss,
I knew that darker times were at hand.


The holidays were slow and dull.
Winter beauty has lost it's luster.
We longed for that jovial aura
that only you could muster.
The new year is days away
and our home is in fair condition;
but the doctors kept you at bay
to hopefully give your illness remission.
Cell phones stayed within reach,
Mom has become a bundle of nerves,
and fear is starting to breach
all the patience I've had reserved.
I've always admired your strengh.
You said the same resides in me;
but it's hard to shake the grief
of what will eventually be.


Sitting at the kitchen table,
I hear Mom hang up the phone
and before I can inquire,
she softly whispers: "She's gone."
The next few days at home
hardly created a comfort zone;
I'm surrounded by loved ones,
but never felt more alone.
To make things worse, of course:
little sorrow was left to render
while trying to keep the peace
between fighting family members.
Violent words flew back and forth
as my heart underwent it's contortions
at the sight of your own children
arguing over who gets their portion.


My mind is in the mortuary,
but my heart is still at bay
so I request that they pull over
and let me walk the rest of the way.
I'm not the least bit nervous.
I know exactly what I'll say,
but it's hard to serve this purpose
while wishing you were here to stay.
The love you imparted always lasted.
None other felt so true to me.
That's what drew me near your casket
as I delivered this heartfelt eulogy;
and as a room of teardrops gathered
to show how much you would be missed,
I just gently stroked you hair
before offering you one final kiss.


A few years have passed by;
but you still thrive in memory.
Although I know you rest up high,
You still feel so near to me.
Seventeen years of living together
didn't always impart serenity;
but knowing you live in me forever
grants me unparalleled tranquility.
The hard times that we've endured
displayed our worst and very best;
but the relationship that emerged
truly withstood any and every test.
You gave all that you had for me.
I know that now, I'm far from able;
but I'll climb that chair again one day
and join you at God's kitchen table.


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz






Rest in Peace, Jeralyn Morris Metz. I love you more than my heart can ever express. Till we meet again, Grandmother. <3