Tuesday, July 22, 2014



She was the kind of strange
that made normalcy nonexistent.
Persist and you'll rue the day.
She threw the rules away.
Everything to say
contradicted me implicitly.
Complicity is not my nature
but it's not like I'm doing favors.
In her mystique I toil and labor
learning foreign nomenclature
that I may never use again.
Befriended her in my past life.
Fast life.
Whiskey in tall bottles wrapped in towels.
How the bowels of the city
remain dank and morbid
on the days she wouldn't tour it.
Poured Bourbon from my flask.
Spilled a little on her thighs.
Didn't even have to ask.
She'd just look into my eyes
and let me get to work.
Mini skirt an open invitation
to the brand of desire
that multitudes or whole nations
likely killed each other for.

Every store had a receipt to claim.
Most of them in my name
unless she felt that twinge of guilt.
Lust is how our house was built
but that rose would never wilt
that I gave her a week before Winter.
Dinner was another daunting task.
Beginner's luck would fade as fast
as the tip money that lined my pockets.
I found myself back then
tied to this same rocket
but she's not here to light the fuse.
She is the reason why
I don't really watch the news.
Confused with each report that surfaced.
I grow just as nervous
as I draw closer to the truth.
Could've chosen me to shoot instead.
The lights were dim.
The streets were hazy.
A scene so grim as this lady
laying lifeless on the pavement.

She would tell me:
"Save wit for the unintelligent."
It always gave me fits
because she thought I had an angle.
She likely never realized
how willingly I would dangle
from the tips of her manipulative means.
She haunts my dreams
with an overload of fantasies
I've presumed locked away forever.
Acts that I would never
even ponder in a public setting.
She's clearly worth forgetting
for the sake of sanity
but my love for her is unrelenting.
Maybe that's my vanity.

She saw love
as the greatest,
most decadent,
fruitless weakness
that a man could ever show
or a woman could ever ask for.
My heart would beat my pants
to the floor when she'd say that.
She knew what made me angry.
Same things that drove me crazy
to the point where
I wanted so much more of it.
To forfeit in many ways is cowardice
but I found bliss when she took the lead.
Of any seed ever planted
in this stirring mind of mine,
hers was the darkest enchantment
that has stood the test of time
to this very day.

I eventually threw the bottles away.
Kept the towels they were wrapped in.
Pure and soft like satin.
Often took me back to a time
when white and black
was all the color needed
to appreciate the finer things in life.
Before I found her black heart,
I was privy to skin that flowed
across my fingertips like raw milk:
fresh and moist without blemish.
Diminished over time were the chances.
Slowly replaced with mere glances
until I'd get to touch her again.
Closest I've come to having a friend.
Never knew a more powerful lover.
She never met my mother.
Wouldn't bring her around my brothers.

Like no other,
she was dear to me.
Sweetest symphony
playing in the heart
of a man recalling the fondest part
of his one connection
with this world of twisted dreams.

Love ain't always what it seems
but this life is in
no position to tell me better.

I'll never forget her. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Sunday, July 13, 2014

"The Looking Glass"

"The Looking Glass"

Never considered the time
I've spent standing by this window.
Thought back to when I wrote pieces...

contingent upon which way the wind blows.
I was in need of direction.
Perfection my muse and torture.
Forfeiture my greatest fear.
Ink bled through the tears
on pages I've tossed away.
I found so much more
the day I lost my way.

Maybe that's why I'm still near this window.

Uncertainty the purest drive.
It is honest and pure.
Nothing akin to demure.
When the mind is unsure,
the heart takes center stage.
Love a lonesome discovery
when we taylor it for recovery.
We are taught to mend the patches
but how does one break the latches
that no witness saw secured?

Why so long just standing here, though?

This window.

Where everything within
already knows where to begin.
Friends viewed as contemporaries
far too involved to be contrary
when it comes to life.
Strife the shortest thought derived
when striving to serve outside themselves
to anyone willing to look in.

This window.

Where through a crack in the blinds,
I find one among them
that is not as brisk.
Does he fear the risk
or recognize futility?
Is he exerting his humility?
Nothing demonstrative before him.
He appears sort of postmortem.
Lifeless soul void of deliberation.
Coy in his search for liberation.
Drawn into some stubborn fixation
that keeps him facing where no one treads.

Threads unravel from these worn curtains
adorned in purpose for the self-scorned
so urgently still self drawn
to the window because I'm too nervous
to use the front door that never locks.
With each fiber that rips
I grip tighter to the truth.
Fruit of my fearsome labor.
Favors offered by many.
Helping hands aplenty
but no confidence in self.
The top shelf is no place for me.
Where the complacency
makes latency an end
that requires no justifiable means.
Afraid of not remaining clean.
Scared to lose that gleam
that was imparted when intrigue
endeared me to something as profound
as the sound of power etched in lines.

Through this window I have found me.
This view defines me.
I am sitting there:
afraid to care enough to go
because someone out there may show
me that I'm not good enough.
The rougher pills I'm scared to swallow.
So content with being hollow
that even my contempt can't nourish me.
Furnished well within my doubt,
I see me there but won't dare shout.

I might scare myself away from the window.

So we stay here
in our stalemate.
In my wonder
and my frail state.
We just sulk into regression
as all progression is stalled.
It honestly begs the question:

Was this a window at all?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Thursday, July 3, 2014

"Technicolor Vertigo"

"Technicolor Vertigo"

She moves much faster
than her imagination can process.
Prolific she perceives her decisions.
Non-traditional her tradition.
Trademark of the confused spirit
searching for the answer without inquiry.
She lost the directions
the moment she ignored the destination.

Beauty as grand as hers
endears her to every type of guy.
I was unusually shy when we met.
Nights we'd never ever forget
blanketed by a sky brighter than the corners.
Umbrella perched high without raindrops.
Rooftops always have the best view.
My world always appeared new
even when she couldn't see it.
Asked her if she'd like to hear a secret
but her nature I couldn't subdue.
The worst discoveries are always true.

Cloaked in rain,
her pain sticks to her
instead of washing away.
What could I possibly say
if my time has come and gone?
She is seated in the discomfort
that is the loneliness of her throne
and I've settled in as serf already.
Deadly the deeds of a contorted past.
The desire that engulfed it all
became an aimless fireball
hardly stalled by the squalls.

She's complicating.
Her own worst slice of hell
distinguished by dizzy spells
and onlookers when she fell.
Sour stomachs, soaking pores
yet she's on pace for some more.
Lonesome chore of cold resentment
searching for a taste of contentment.
Commitment the holy grail.
Worn herself rugged and frail.
We lock eyes and all can tell
who looks blush and who is pale.

Fairy tales in her perception.
Nothing real by her detection.
She was never a true fan.
I wonder how much she'd understand.
Grand the mystery called love
packaged in the book of life.
Strife the savior of the weak.
I pray this is not her peak.
We don't speak much but we talk.
Minds and hearts walk in the past.
One or the other must last
long enough to survive regret.

I still want to tell my secret.

The secret……

that we breathe and sigh in colors.
Black and white are there for spite
but the light that meets my eyes
should only come as a surprise
to show her how I once saw her.
How she once saw herself, rather.
I still see those lights today
albeit under shades of grey
that she's fashioned from her disappointment.
Her moves are so disjointed
that the warning signs read "Welcome."

We can only guess the outcome.

Yet and still, the overkill.

She moves much faster
than her imagination can process.
Prolific she perceives her decisions.
Non-traditional her tradition.

Not prophetic by any means
but these color coded dreams
lose a hue or two
with every spinning change in her agenda.
Twisting fast within the blender
sweetened with what was remembered
of a past that faded fast.
Threw the rest out with the trash.
If my wishes would enlist me,
rather than having her kiss me
or hoping that she would miss me,
I just don't want her to be dizzy.

Not anymore.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

"Lick The Pistol"

"Lick The Pistol"

Assessed the damage
with the weapon I've brandished.
Removed your bandage and took control.
Two in the bullet hole
followed by a sign of peace.
Not deceased
but I claim this moment in life
you swore I surely stole.

You let me fold back flesh
wide enough to mar the evidence.
It should be evident.
Evanescent crime scene in our wake
makes it ever eery.
Conspiracy theories and synopsis abound
but not a sound nor a witness.
Wiped clean from the hit list.

Sophisticated my drive.
The past wants me dead or alive
but I've already claimed my hostage.
Your experience while in bondage
a story no pure heart can bear.
Bare skin over loose joints.
Signature hollow points
you swallow with ease.
Lead to the head well fed
like I said "Come get it."
Hit it hard like air was an issue.
Tissue for the tears.
Runny makeup trapped in ears
that only acknowledge the sound
of the very next blast
before choking it down. 

With faint murmurs,
you write murder with blood
as cold as the desire for torture.
Forfeiture a welcome engine of enchantment.
Surrender to the lender of demise.
Excitement and submission in those eyes.
Deaths come quick and passionate
but life never extinguished.

Proper English with your angles
while I let the barrel dangle.
Weary knees lay under.
Proof of your ambitious blunder.
Wonder focused on the chamber.
Disclaimer of frantic anticipation.
The tingling sensation
hard and smooth as steel
Still deeper than the throat can bear.
Tied back the hair and pulled the trigger.
What the hammer does not force
the shrapnel will deliver. 

 Written By: Devin Joseph Metz