"Masks"
Us in our current state....
...... too late.
Very little about us
is sufficient in this setting.
I tire from the unrelenting:
repenting after repeated trips
through the black water we've waded in.
Dark matter followed by nervous chatter
barely quelling a flame that shouldn't burn.
So turn away from me.
Please.
I don't trust myself.
I need your help.
Amnesia hoped for to no avail.
Desperate ambition so frail.
Pale the pigment of dashed will.
There was once thrill in hiding;
presiding over each other in conceal.
Skin worn this thin reveals
to the glancing what we shouldn't feel
so we drape ourselves in torn restraint.
The discomfort a necessary accessory.
Despondent accompaniment of the essential.
Even as we've laid here bare,
my perdition is hanging over there.
Recalling days when we treated fear
like foreplay before the blind.
The kind of mockery none are proud of.
Love harder to find with garments removed.
Proven true in how I still look at you.
Would deny myself before letting you see
these eyes so dry from evaporated lies
that I still cannot rinse clean.
Inadequate that we be seen together.
Weather too perfect.
The birds have flown on for the evening.
No torrent for purposeful distortion.
A small portion of time granted
that should have been recanted
for the sake of those involved.
We are what cannot be resolved.
We prod.
We poke.
I provoke.
You dishevel.
We choke.
and regret.
and repent.
and resent ourselves.
They sit on shelves
like ornaments for celebratory means.
Still their disposition disposable
for one's dangerously wavering countenance.
Compliments collected in fashion
whilst working to save face.
I now grace this world with a shroud.
Once proud of what the sun illuminates,
I now await the darkness I wasn't fond of.
Found love and confused it.
Used it to an obscene degree.
I can barely see and breathe
but this cloak you cannot read.
Restoration crushed like seeds
under feet tangled in weeds.
Preservation of our leads.
Blind before me yet you see
so I disguise to meet the need.
Please understand.
I'm sorry.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Systematic Strain"
The fear is out.
That means the ear is out of frequency.
Public indecency in the form
of a profitable norm
that we have yet to recognize
and I've no reason to sympathize
with the often uninformed.
This ignorance is uniform.
You don't need case in point.
You are the bullet point,
the frame of reference
and the evidence to support it.
Recall when anthrax was purported:
Still couldn't pay the taxes
and the stamps still aren't free.
That envelope was for me
but you opened it anyway.
Threw mayhem into the fray
so the government had to say
it was an epidemic manufactured
under the backers of biochemical warfare.
There's always war somewhere.
The canisters and casings in large amounts
are only days away from the bank account.
Fear is profit for malevolent means.
Dreams become nightmares.
Despair much more tangible
than the hope we cast aside thoughtlessly.
A world of fortune found in the notion
that we can't survive the scare
or we can't go anywhere
for sake of being quarantined:
taped off like a new crime scene
and it will be the headline.
There must be a deadline
for dishing out decrepit dissemination.
They claim to inform the nation.
They want to "keep us in the know"
while they show those tears
instead of saying show no fear
and be intelligent about it all.
Now we sprawl
and crawl
and run away
and say "GET AWAY"
to those just as misinformed as we:
lack luster personalities
who could care less about your fear
or your tears
or the outcome.
They sneer and watch the crowd run.
Did more with proclamations
than a burglar with a handgun.
They'll claim the truth in a joke
just to watch you choke air back,
throw on masks,
tie your hair back
and dust off the safety goggles.
All the while, powers that be
toggle between powers that free
and messages that enslave the gullible.
They know what trends look colorful
and make no amends for
how the media presents it.
Resentment in every social media post
about a contaminated commercial flight
followed soon thereafter by fright or anger.
The newsroom your manger complete with
a trademark social networking pacifier.
Proud supplier of mass hysteria.
An area reserved for research
has become bogged down in t-shirts
and collectibles and banners
and a walk to cure breast cancer
and an ALS donation
is an ice bucket demonstration.
How well tracked are all the proceeds?
I'm done with tact so let me proceed:
Gimmicks noosed around your neck
when you could just cut the check.
Controversial yearly omen
and you know nothing of Susan G. Komen.
Years spent on research and development
and we've yet to reach a settlement
concerning a sufficient timetable.
When will the willing become the able?
Locked away one day
will be the remote controller
strategically set to Ebola
along with Anthrax
and other shock value relics
like venereal strains reportedly discovered
in a land where mothers cling to
the corpses of their fallen
and we're all in to find a cure
in countries where the water isn't pure.
I speak not from the realm of conspiracy
but rather from the angry hearts
and minds of those of us
who will not accept the norms.
Don't give me medicine until it harms
and must undergo a massive recall.
We Call You Out NOW.
We are not encouraged
by your medical trials.
Our loved ones are out on a fringe.
Someone may fly off the hinge
after a binge on your fear filled vials
but I will break that syringe.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Over Time"
As you are.
Just right.
Just ripe for the picking.
The hands move so slow
that I can feel every tick tock.
Thoughts rock back and forth
between the last and the next
embrace in a time frame.
A sort of mind game.
An office space chess board
and I'll move the pawns
if you tell the rooks to back off.
I'm back off and anticipating.
Suspense truly deflating
but I've lost no portion of interest.
After awhile, you'll walk by
and hopefully say "Hi"
and I'll have a response for once
better than this cheesy grin
and a stare that tells of sins
I'd commit with you in public settings.
Momentarily forgetting that
communication is a two person endeavor.
Mixed well within the trances
of clever advances
rarely noticed by those around us,
chance appears as if to taunt us;
flaunting shamelessly when we're alone,
deliberately dangling the bone before you
as if surrender is incentive.
As you wish.
Fish for compliments.
Acknowledgement.
Accomplishment of the biased.
Your favor my ace in the hole.
Some control is in order.
Wouldn't dare defile the borders
unless you cut the ribbon first.
No concern for the worst
when given the best chance
to quench our thirst.
Endless invitations.
Situations created against means of convenience.
Consistent yet overt
so I always wonder who's seeing this.
All in for the plans.
I don't need the risk
but we want this moment.
Said I won't be sorry.
I won't need any atonement.
Just the will to want it more.
Occurrences only explored
in my mind until now.
So the plot thickens
like this bulge when you bend over.
After this is over, we'll have thoughts to ponder
during business hours and nights barely sober.
As you were.
My oft revisited memory.
Obscenities once imaginative
retain seclusion but have become tangible.
Fanciful occurrences I've thought of
in detail adorned with deep yells
and fulfilling sighs..........
now completely before my eyes.
Well worth the effort.
Weathered the pressure
and held onto mystery tightly.
This cover is slightly blown
gently to the edges of discovery.
Concern yourself not with recovery
but rather on how long.
How long will it take for us
to replace this encounter with the next.
Passers-by in busy hallways.
Days trickle from the calendar
slower than your remnants did
before my unruly consumption.
The challenge is not in their assumption
but rather in their inability to uncover.
Lovers of the danger
that begets perceived strangers
given very little means but
still able to wipe the slate clean.
I honestly don't care
about who else has gone this far.
For what we do, I'll receive you....
........................ as you are.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
[Words]{About}(...) You.
