Sunday, December 20, 2015



Standing still in this place.
This face full of creamy skin.
Hue assured as milky
complete with hair this silky
whether short,
or stringy. 


The often romanticized dream
I can now proclaim as real.
Everything we feel
as new and sudden
as the first chance.
Short glance before I step away
telling myself
"enough today"
as if I stand in compliance.
Still shots of you in silence
stir in me the dirtiest of violent thoughts.
Power uncommon
coursing through the overlooked. 


Never overwhelmed
at the helm of life.
Strife still stings
but you tie those strings.
Trifling things
but you tie those strings.
Pain attached
but you break that latch
and you scrape and scratch
and you peel that back. 

Does it feel like that when....?
I imagine.
Fantasized honestly. 

I've seen
vandals in sandals
no more fit for the mantle
than that which collects dust.
The must of their tread
wreaks of ambition driven stale.
Ankles pale from lack of circulation.
Interpretation of mid-climb
forever forging a position
construed for blaming time
for the self served transgression
known as lack of progression. 

I've witnessed the witless.
Skipping in slippers.
Sipper of the cheapest brand.
Calloused hands
hug the plastic bottle.
Full throttle past the tonsils
Enter route to the liver.
Giver of tales
from years no longer recent.
Decent in self perception.
In their mirror a reflection
of what would have been
and what used to be.
Used to see
the opportunity in all things.
Now the lonesome heart sings
as the mind sways,

Stumbling upon your design
is for the fortunate among us
and I'm still rubbing my eyes.
Clouds that drift this high
find time to displace.
God's grace
bathing over you in layers
thick enough to taste days away.
Words I've yet to say
never make it past my grin.
Smiles that mix the love within
with a bevy of new sins
we've enjoyed a hundred times
and then
for as long as my imagination lingers. 

Fingers formed for knots
that flip flops know nothing of.
Bare or gloved,
those hands reach
across each impedance
with the will to find balance.
Challenged daily
by those falling,
flailing laces. 

Places like this
where my mind could slip
into the deepest sleep
if it meant our hearts could creep
closer with each nightly stroll.
Time took its toll
but the moments are worth a ransom
just to have some sensation. 

To feel your grip.
Your twist.
Your tuck between loops
circling hoops that trace this
precursor for the pace
where I can stand in place
hoping this life would take the time
to just embrace your face as I do
instead of trying to
or simply look past it. 

Maybe we'll create new habits... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Saturday, December 5, 2015



It was almost an accident.

Accurate assuming
that this amusing perusing
would reach further than this bed.
I'm further in your head
than the heart could ever profess.
I confess that this is comfortable.
Controversial maybe
but the sticks and stones you're saving
barely bang or brush
or shave these whiskers.
Don't ask me to whisper
when I was the mister
that could poke his way through lies

with his eyes half open
and your thighs fully fanned.
Fancy hands that hold some history.
Your misery my absence.

It was some sort of intentional.

Even cynical, smug texts
would end up in tugs next.
Ephemeral rough sex.
I was the very best.
Tale told by every ex
overhearing they weren't good.
Used to wonder what's good
but I've seen this place.
I'm good
and I should
turn down the proposition.
Unless we talk,
don't care to listen.
When you spit shine,
I glare and glisten.
Unless I walk,
you aren't my mission
but that shit's mine.

I barely miss it.

Narrow in escape.
I have the cape.
I wouldn't save it, though.
Quick behind the drapes.
Embrace your shape
before I wave and go.
Made calls from the ground below.
Heard the yearning sounds below.
Unless you resound in "No"
way under the ground I go.
Whether it be sun or snow,
Weather underground to blow.
Lost beneath your lava flow.
Watched how high the lava goes
just for kicks and now you know
our time was picked without the show.

You wouldn't understand.
I'm a man
so isn't that my trait?
Every loop and strand
recalled like rubber bands
in the hands of fate.
Casualty of mockery.
Overtime you've docked from me.
Over time you'd knock for me
to display your hypocrisy

and not for me.
Rather so you'd feel better.
She was a flame.
I'll soon forget her
but I remember you so vivid.
Lonesome nights just lost and livid.
Lust like lipids once lukewarm
soon burn like fat to singe and harm
and hurt so good the helpless victim.
No real thrill. No life within them.
Salty with the bitter taste.
Squint your eyes and smush your face.
Milk and honey much misplaced.
Melting moments soon displaced

and where we stand
there are no plans
to lay with limbs
I part with hands.
I'm not your past.
I'm just a man.
I've no demands.
Not anymore.
No settled score.
Unsettled more with your permission.
Made prior calls in my position.
Once lined your walls with peak precision
but when you fall from my omission,
spare me the slight of your skewed vision.

Checked beforehand
long before hands
would be so instrumental.
Neck still purple, red and riddled.
Gasps from flesh that grazed my dental.
Hapless test confused the mental.
Had your guess been influential,
this would all be incidental

but this was almost accidental.


Almost is the most
that we could ever hope for

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

"Everything And Me"

"Everything And Me"

Pretend to be concerned
while you conceal the laughs.
Press on until you strike a nerve.
That's when you'll start to gasp.
Once viewed judgement with disbelief.
Couldn't conceive the laughter.
The line between relief and grief:
A myth.
A missing chapter.
No thought worth missing after
we've fought to fuel the rapture.

"What's wrong?"

Thought to say something
but the ear as lame as trend
won't recall where I begin
yet the eyes will drift on end
to ticking hand's impatient rend
impartial to how this may end.
At my end I've wasted wit
in lieu of cause I've deemed legit
responding with full gall and grit
in hopes that all would benefit.
Still young the years
seen in these eyes
amid the fear
and tears I've cried.
Watch as I form lies
so yours aren't shed.
Better off in head.
Better off when dead
when they talk about
without talking out
and they love to shout
in spite of support.
Hate the cherished sport.
Meaningless retort.
Mix the news report
with the scathing post.
Navy boats called gravy boats.
Maintaining boasts of profit.
Twisted logic all the sudden.
This does not fit what was governed.
Sulk about aside the sullen
until news comes from the southern
tip of things we must endure.
Fleeting pristine.
Nothing pure will last this long.
Dissecting slurs like classic songs
whose lyrics ring well in the mind.
Lost on cordial, calm and kind.
Militant as long as time
lends credence to this headline.

"What's the problem?"
Never mind.

Mine never when
minds mine through mine mind
like mines.
Excavation on display.
Escalation that of carefully
calculated inflation:
considerably convenient in delay.
New in ways to rue the day.
Grew today
to be snatched at the root.
Fruit half consumed
as the rest are tossed aside.
Took pride in my impending denial.
Vile I appear in petition.
Classified under condition
should I ever challenge tradition.
Transition not commonly seamless.
Seen less after the fallout
than there was before I called out
to blame
and name
and shame without the desire to maim.
I the one of a lone few
that knew the need for seeds
was far greater than the wood
stripped away from less aged trees. 

The trees drew more concern
than the forest that slowly burns
and in term, there is nothing in turn
to expound upon what we have learned.

What have you earned?
My silence.

No whispers from violence
debated over more than dashed.
No inflection per direction
of selective dereliction
by those who support affliction
against opposing views of diction.
The conflicting views
seen as miscues misunderstood
by the very best bad
marching as the greatest good.
Stood here and witnessed transformation
in confused horror instead of elation.
God's creation hinged on fixation
taught that hate needs no translation
and that love kills universally
although hate would end us openly.
Over me you've made your choice.
From under you've snatched my voice
once filled with ambitious promise.
Skewed your views and bruised the polish
granted to untapped potential.
For your effort instrumental
in incidental, hapless chains
that will soon prove consequential,
I will slight this mind still rushing. 

"What's the matter, Devin?"

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Saturday, November 21, 2015


We're loving this past our limit.
Knowledge of right and wrong
has nothing to do with it.
Homage paid displayed
on trays with silver handles...
that we've never had to handle.
Thank goodness as we mishandle
every thing that we toast to.
I'm supposed to
treat our truths with tact,
ignore when you overreact
and enjoy in spite of the fact
that you've knocked over three bottles worth.
Bottles work well when they want to
like when I want you
and you've no will to decline
or like when we chase the silence,
an extra bottle is fine
or like when we spark the violence
and our actions define
that of a perfect disaster.
I talk
but you shout faster.
I walk
but you run faster.
She confronts
but he outlasts her
and the world notices.
All we know is this
besides the bottom of the glass
and the crash that is yet to be explained.
Maintain condition.
That pain commissioned
to replace a powerless persuasion
inclined to that of sober minds
so to find room for another campaign
for that case of champagne
makes these red and gold stains
almost completely worth it.
Drink until we find perfect.


Saturday, October 31, 2015



If I made time
to look at your face,
I'd tell the truth
but all I care to see
sits still in this flute.
Silhouette yet adorned in soft light
so I can't hide from you.
Not even on late nights.
Flights from common
to the rarest of cities.
Felt the frost of regret
long after hoping you'd come with me.
The sun just fills me
with reasons to abstain.
The bubbles in this glass...
they run away from the rain
to stain this tray.
Figured they'd gain a way
to secure their getaway
but they lost their vessel. 

How have we managed? 

Advanced your vantage
from meager to militant.
Innocent in perception.
Favorable dereliction from the norm.
Used once as fear from harm
to tell the tale of half truths.
Another half flute and debate ensues.
Conversing I've come to rue:
Confirmed again that men
are truly demonic creatures
with such heavenly features.
The staunch teachers of irony.
Loathsome, tiring, uninspiring, conventional
words bred of the cynical
recited in cyclical rhythm
as often as the songs taught to toddlers.
I find her and request another bottle:

stay awhile.
I am throttled by my company.
Come now.
Comfort me.
Let me not suffer this alone."

Majesty upon your throne
sneering away at me,
your assumed vagabond
perceived as plotting between your legs
and those of the next waitress that smiles.
Wiles I've no reason to confirm
or beg pardon for if affirmed.
Tiles harder to walk across.
With every sip,
a slip awaits the stumbler.
Your slumber my reward.
Life is hard.
Love ain't easy.
That was painful.
I am queasy.
Found this so easy to drink.
Sipping between every blink.
Gulp til we don't care to think.
Stemware strewn across the sink.
Detergent can't wash away
anything about we.
Hungover for days
finding ways to dream about we:

About how it fizzles
and tickles when we kiss.
About our favorite year.
That one bottle we've missed. 

About how crazy gets
a little lazy when we're drunk.
About minds so hazy
we locked the keys in the trunk. 

About the only way
to ensure that we reconvene.
About how I'm an asshole
for perceiving you as mean. 

About time that is better when
it is experienced instead of measured.
About our blatant obscenities
trapped in moistened love letters. 

I highly doubt the fact
that this is a public conversing
will encourage some tact
before more yelling and cursing.
Blurt in spurts words
that the heart should never hear.
Asking you to go back home
when I still want you near.... 

Choke the tears back.
They make it taste flat
and we've paid too much in privacy
not to have something of quality. 

Call over the waitress......

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

"The Wages"

"The Wages" 

Wire barbed
and my thighs are scarred
and my skin is scored
and the open pores
mark a thirst for more.
Torn through flesh
to a solid core.
I am violent more
than I was before.
Keeping score?
Liked me less
when I would talk more
but loved me best
when I could not best
though I would resist
and you could desist
but you would not cease
so I tend to wounds
and I seal each crease.
Before I heal soon,
you would steal my peace. 

You don't have the room.
Nothing in the least.
Time I would not lease
So let me speak my piece.

My only demand
is that you understand
before you rake my hand. 

I spent the best days of my life
looking for the right people.
To be truly honest,
I really don't think I like people.
Unlike people,
I don't square off in an instance
for a problem better solved
beyond proximity and distance. 

So you wonder why I climb high;
sliding through the sharp.
Not for rainbows, milk and honey
or an angel with a harp.
They will see me mortified.
Teardrops dangling from their eyes
at the view of hanging flesh
in lieu of covet in distress.
Dress this scene.
Press it clean.
Pull the remnants from my dreams.
Nothing left of the obscene.
Every rung a truth unseen.
Secrets stashed upon this ladder.
The latter I've fancied created.
Wished for ways to make it
easier to vault
without impedance and halt.
Metal burning scabs like salt.
You learned nothing from your fault 

but I have earned today
regardless of what you will realize

and my eyes are fixed
on these jagged,crumbling bricks
that break and crack
before they fall.
Watch me crawl
if your heart will allow
as I hang from it all
and you aim to stall
the journey that will surely
claim you as next to embark.
Destined to rise from the dark
since sandcastles in the park

but this climb won't end until we start. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Saturday, October 10, 2015

"Warm Sugar"

"Warm Sugar"
Imagined you breached.
Briskly broken.
Blissfully burst forth ...

from the very first moment
that my lips intended to graze.
Softer than glaze
dancing in ribbons
as it twirls about fingertips
to land on the tongue.
Hung well
on promises of the milky.
Sweet cream this young.
This fresh.
This silky
This pure.
Enduring no process
to progress through maturation
in the manner nature envisioned.

This is what endears me to you.

From your scent
to your hue
to your texture so complex
and intricate
and delicate
and decadent.
The frost left in your wake
serves to confirm why I am seething.
Perceived somewhat misleading
until the day my breathing
sweetened the taste of every sigh.
Wished for what
and wondered why
while wanting how

to take place here and now.

Rubbed you slow against my brow.
Felt you quake and tremble.
Actions that resemble
anticipation from neglect.
Starved for one who will not let
one single grain escape unclaimed.
The lust untamed.
I bust the frame.
I break it out.
I take it out.
I let you come.
I feed you some.
It smears across the teeth.
The spell is strung.
Sensations sung
too loud to be discreet.

Every crease a compliment
on counters sitting pretty
resting wide with eyes and grinning
lower lips that whisper

"Come And Get Me."

Sitting plain
on marble plains
where streaks and stains
have stated plain
that I acknowledge pain with more.
Portions of you on the floor
still dripping from the handle
and I handle the upholstery
for sake of savoring the morsels.
What gathers in a pool below
to crystallize in viscous flow
is drawn from where the kisses go
while braids are held beneath torso.

Watch it crush and crumble
as it tumbles across tonsils.
Taste buds tingling in counsel.
Lost to wander at the knees.


My imagination
goes further than fascination.
Potent as libation
proofed to the next degree
like a syrupy sea
washing across my sweet tooth
tingling to chew
all that is you
until quivers become numb.
Licking lips and sucking thumbs.
Sweetest scent filling my lungs.
Stole from shame collecting crumbs


and you don't even know........

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Sunday, October 4, 2015

"Wet Blades"

"Wet Blades" 

This traction.
....Palms over awnings.
Drawn to the scent relentlessly.
Spent after dreams
realized through screams so violent
that used to vex in silence.
I am conscious of what led me.
Head swimming in the rapture of it all.
Soaked walls with sweat
whilst we kept regret at bay.

Today has taken place
for what felt like lifetimes
before this very instant.
Can't afflict while distant.
Can't invoke unprovoked.
Can't tie the rope.
Can't watch you choke
so deep the air escapes
with fairer drapes to peek through.

Moistened sharps.
Torn apart.
Peeled you slightly.
Let you bite me
and pretend to fight me
only to ensure disappointment
should our bond become disjointed.

You're too sick for we....

So I'm tarnished
here and there subsequently
Your character haunts me so violently.
Shall we overcome?

Shadowed and shamed through black marrow
Rained on with sparrows
I can only feel your arrow

Piercing my lungs
Harder to focus with short breath
Your new nest
Sits best
; heavy on my chest

After this relentlessness
I need bed rest, yes.

Mere formality
For pageantry that ensues.
Imbued with a lust
That trust identifies as forsaken.
Awakened in full bloom.
Away locked in this room.
Array that I assume.
A way this milky moon
Vanishes in our shadow.
A zone fit for the shallow.

Cracked bones to sip the marrow.
and slashed.
Embattled victim.
Watched you sulk for savages
Nowhere near as ravenous as me.
Aimed to ravage. They just feed.
My advantage is your need.

Rip and ram to spill the seeds.
The moon will hide.
She cries.
We bleed. 

Roses growing from concrete.
Stiff feet
Mere formality
Blurry realities
I'm back.

Up against the wall
I won't crack
This is clearly a hack
Time tested
Unwavering projections
life lessons
No contestant.
I'm looking for a simile
to hide the things I really mean
But ain't no half stepping
when I'm left second guessing.

What remains certain is the temperature.
We won't grow old

if the blood is cold
and the edges crust over time.
Sublime that fateful encounter.
Fruitful reminder
of what surfaces
when motive is not disclosed.

Clothes stained
from exposed membranes
I have sought to poke and twist.
More fun when you resist
and reach for me.
Expose your
and watch the essence flail.
Cascade high then fall like hail
Smooth the swing. The slice won't fail.
Saw you cry but they can't tell... 

Written By: Evelyn Rivera & Devin Joseph Metz

Friday, September 18, 2015

"Thief Amid Darkness"

"Thief Amid Darkness" 

You're the best of my worst occurrence.
My warmth near the chilly furnace
furnished for what dreams
can't even think to warn me of.
Light from above.
You would blind me with love
then you'd bind me.
Silk gloves.
Sitting here cold and nervous.
Your perceived purpose concealing your penchant.
Pendant your sole lead.
I need you
and you leave remnants to ensure such.
Moments when we touch
fill the air with our aroma.
I hear our song before long
and you impart this persona.
This orientation
Disturbing joy and grace
and I am displaced.
Misplaced my disgrace
yet I fish for desire.
My ire invaluable
but malleable
in the hands I've only felt
once without silk imparted.
Charted out this course
after intercourse
looking forward to our discourse.
More to discover
but as time hovers,
the same is said
for these chances that elude me. 

You used me. 

You use me. 


I would kill to feel.
The feeling in my mouth.
You filling in my mouth.
Me feeling you throughout
until I don't think
or care to breathe.
Silk never slid
although sleeves roll up
and the sheets fold up
and we rest in this zone
at our best all alone. 

Here I rest
all alone. 

Drained as my phone is.
Deep as the tone when
realizing what you take away.
Your getaway predetermined.
Planned long before arrival.
Practiced like recital
before an audience anticipating illusion. 

Therein lies the simplest confusion. 

I seem to aid you.
I've made you
the greatest escape artist
of my love, life and times.
You acknowledge I am handsome.
I your ransom
should light ever seek to reveal.
Amid moments in the darkness,
you steal whilst I remain still
in the thrill of your presence.
Enough essence to evade the inquiry
over an infatuation that could lead to
times that might impart accusations
that should've been introductory.
Covered in your cloak.
Smothered as I choke
and my face turns blue
but I won't turn you away from me. 

Leaving me
long before you see
where you've misplaced compassion.
Your passion less hinged on me
when fixed on the energy.
Ice cold skin
never warm without my touch.
Learned as much
after your first attempt at trust.
Too much to process.
Former digression from the initial dereliction
that somehow enchants us both. 

You won't float
unless I'm allowed to swim
and I won't drown
even when you pull me down
and you won't sink
for the remnants that I drink
and before my last blink,
you've taken the time to think
to include me in your plans
without employing demand.
So very far I'd fall.
For you, I'd gladly crawl
even still as you stand 

to walk away. 

Even as I say,
the truth is that I'll always stay
to wait for our next chance to play.
How much is left to steal away

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Friday, September 11, 2015



Mind shut off from the depth of it.
Closed eyes from the rest of it
just to rest a bit.
Just to veer to the left of it
as if it never existed.
The living is twisted.
The fear is smaller now
when placed next to discomfort.
This is awkward.
That was worse
but this feels just like the first
so I can't tell the difference.
Can't yell.
Can't feel.
Can't sell myself on much better.
Forgetting until condemned.
I wish I'd grabbed his hymn.
I'd wish for 2010 again.
Thank God that I'm older
but I smile less when I'm sober
and influence is assumed.
String of rooms all to myself
and I can't help not sleeping.
Steeping in my thoughts
by my lonesome.
I'm not lonesome.
Never lonely.
They own me
and I've never been a nickel short.
Retort met season rather than reason.
Not for sake of rationale.
More to highlight how I fell
or if I've even climbed.
More inclined to my heartstrings
than I'd like the next to know.
Pride I show
mistaken for a show of masculinity
and offended me would try
but the rendered me just dies
a little more with explanation.
Duration rarely in my favor..
I may toil.
I know labor
but there is no fruit to savor.
I've so little I can show.
Encouraged that I still grow
but what I know now is deflating.
Time negating progression.
Obsession with procrastination
and confusion.
Told illusion is my compass.
The compassion scraped from edges
like the starving chased by death. 

I want no more of this depth.
This abyss.
Empty kiss cold near the furnace.
I can't burn this.
I have earned this
and I'm too tired to ask why. 

The blow.
The sigh.
The shaking head.
Such things are as dead
as the hands that implore frustration.
Situations where expressed need
masks the pungent taste of greed
and I don't ask
nor do I heed.
Just serve the slop
and I will feed.
Stale nourishment
Malnourished shit.
Some of it flung against the wall.
The texts.
The calls.
Would eat it all.
You need it all to furnish me
but this domicile is hollow.
Where you would once reside
I wallow.
If my heart decides,
I follow
but I'm not much for time.
None borrowed. 

We're not over yet
but I'm over it.
Well overdue.
over you
and I'd go through you
with eyes slow to view
what I'd hold you to
if I only knew 

how much it meant for me to care. 

That'd be fair, right?

There's cooler air most nights.
I sometimes fear how I would fare
out there in my rocking chair.
Body riddled with stress.
Skin as wrinkled as regrets
I've thrown away after they were written.
According to who you ask,
not so much of me is hidden
so if certain things reveal
all of what I truly feel,
maybe then some of that solace
can replace an empty promise
or two.
Hopefully a few.
The harsh exist for purpose
even when lost and nervous.
Uncertainty the adversary.
The scene obscene.
The setting scary.
Hands clasped beneath the clothes.
Memories we both impose.
Ringing words hang in ear lobes.
Mind wide open
Eyes still closed. 

Leave me be. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Friday, August 21, 2015



And who will write their words?
Speak into existence
all the sentences that air heard. 

Pardon me. 

While I'm here snacking on hors d'oeuvres,
they're asking for orders.
Molotov and torch heard.
Was taking my orders
but now
the check is on the counter
and the apron on the floor.
They are kicking in the door.
They were denied something more.
Never owners of our stores.
One of many excuses
used to substantiate abuses
they have suffered in a blatant sense.
Another decrease in numbers.
No wonder we're tense
and I've been latent since
my last recollection of that run in.
Woman across from me
and I don't know her name.
Another ounce of words I can't pronounce.
Expensive champagne.
Things weren't this strange
until it felt this strange
to see how much time changed.
Their throats slit and blood stained 

and who will write their words?
Speak into existence
all the sentences that air heard
but where birds fly,
I've seldom seen a bullet. 

Could fix my fortune on portion
but I might still pursue it
in manners they don't peruse.
Their challenge is in the news.
Biased political views
from those wearing the shoes
that have yet to frequent chalk.
No walks amongst caution tape
without camera.
Handle you
by handing you preparation
like lyrics from ghostwriting.
Talk more and more about the fighting,
burning of buildings
but less about the reason why.
There is a shelf life in media.
Soon to be update on Wikipedia
when my people die. 

My people. 

I watch the hate
in their eyes when I can't relate
as if I'm trying to be down.
How I never come around.
How I never thought to visit.
Life outside of city limits.
My progress seen as a gimmick
My success washed over images
of those my age that cry
over those my age that try
but before that cage would pry,
most of those my age would die
and not nearly enough of it
was circumstantial.
That trip back to where I once was
I thought to cancel.
Found no reason to travel miles
just for rejection.
Especially over the misconception
that I wouldn't need protection.
Entourage econolodged.
Driver took a day.
Made it here with no delay.
They all have so much to say.

I know it's hard
but who truly stands to record? 

I'm still wondering:

Who will write their words?
Speak into existence
all the sentences that air heard. 

More bullets than birds. 

Blood curdles and boils.
Battering rams at doors.
The scratches of open sores.
Profusion through open pores.
They try to even the score
but no one cares to count.
The alive count five
or six a day
but that delay in the broadcast
is an attempt to watch them fall fast
under criticism.
News for the country
but something stale in journalism.
Church bells are rung
and then the time comes to negotiate
over the fate of killers
protected by those willing to deliberate.
Orchestrate some denial
and polish it up as progress.
Attend a senseless trial
and fish for some due process
to stave the reprimand.
Our blood still on his hands
A gun placed in the hand
of the young man who was unarmed.
Not charmed by their wiles
or their rhetoric.
Fight to take away our pride
but quick to call us heretics.
Selective embellishment
as long as our culture is defined
as entertainment for the times.
Pockets lined from the maligned
but the militant intimidate.
Their mandate exclusive.
All inclusive in their targets.
Strange their fruit you used to harvest.
Flung my cufflinks.
Tossed my shirt.
Parked my sedan.
Off from work.
Took this trip all by my lonesome.
Thought I came here for the wholesome
but I've walked into this war.
Cops that spar with the defenseless.
Night stick.
Gun butt.
Beat us senseless.
Place cross hairs against our brows.
Frame us later.
Kill us now. 

I know now
and I've been writing.
Witnessed riots.
Saw the fighting.
Knew what media would cover.
Social mediums discovered
ways to apply new restrictions.
Threat with sanctions.
Tease conviction.
Hide description under race.
Only show the victim's face
after the suspect is secured.
I am intrigued.
I am lured.
I invest time in the unknown.
I was silent.
I have outgrown. 

You won't like me.
I am concrete.
You cheap leather.
You will not spite me.
You don't compete.
You know better. 

The people you have slain
live on further in my brain
for my heart cannot contain
it all without a call
to have knowledge applied
to supplement and reside
next to violence so consequential.
I may not condone it
but I certainly will own it
and while others phone it in,
I'll just pick up this pen

and bring to the surface what the air already knew. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Tuesday, August 11, 2015



You'll kick start
from what the mountain do.
Fresh flesh quivers
before mounts of dew
that I will deliver
like the mystic river.
Giver of pain.
Never could refrain.
Ledger of pleasure.
I will not abstain
so lose your brain
while you leave some stains.
Give you piece of mind.
Take a piece of mine
Taste and take my time
Eat it from behind.
Open like wet pores.
Garments on the floor.
Wide open doors
so they hear your screams
whilst I lick you clean. 

Got me


Face still in it.
Let me finish.
Ignore grimace.
Grind through limits
as I run my laps
neck just trapped
between sensation and thrill.
Have my fill
then give you a taste.
Wet like honey.
Paste my face.
Silk and lace.
Squirm in place.
Adjust position.
You do not understand ambition
So I overstate
and I over-ate
and it's getting late
and I'm getting big
so I slob and spit
where my fingers slid 

so I can start 


Fortune favored more than luck
Fortune for no zippers stuck
Found nips you've tucked.
Round nips to suck.
Buttons you pluck.
Tip kissed then sucked.
Head well, untamed.
Head swells from games.
Head game complex.
Rhythm complicated
but you maturate it.
You saturate it.
Sides saturated.
Lips locked.
Too much excitement.
I won't fight it.
Please don't bite it.
Can't keep quiet
and won't keep still.
Mind, mouth and throat.
You take your fill.
Across tonsils
you let me spill 

as I imagine 


No hands in.
Tongue dancing.
Lips dampened.
I cast in
and then draw out.
All out
and all for it.
Call for it.
Crawl toward it.
Can't afford it.
Something priceless.
Of all my vices,
I'll never fight this
warmth surrounding intensive strength.
Strokes of girth and extensive length.
Punch the passion til purple-pink.
Hear the tears and I feel your blinks
before eye contact
where I give you some
then I take it back
and you rake my back
then you take it back
and I wring your hair
and you hold it there
and we stop and stare
and we need some air
but we ignore need
when our want is need
and we want to feed
thoughts that curse and plead 

whenever we start 

Feeling Under Crevices.
Kicking Massive Energy. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Saturday, August 8, 2015



Way too dark.
Can't see the thoughts.
I'm not elated.
Just lost. 

Impressed by your precision.
Distressed by your decisions.
Obsession tossed around
and dragged across the ground.
Far from home throne
supposedly fortified with cobblestone and blacktop
until the top is black
so you can hop back
into comfort and hang up your pretentiousness.
Eyes wide open
but can't find anything in front of me.
Conveniently confronting me
on my perceived indifference.
Diligence to preserve innocence
while persecuting those
who will not join in the arms race.
Your pace cut.
Wasted on the trend of the month.
A front to mask your appearance.
Clearance for any notion
that you just might like the potion
you accuse the world of drinking. 

I stand still
but I'm thinking.
Hands in front of me.
Finger feelers
searching for the filler
in your well placed appeal.
Strategic soapbox stance.
Employing the trance
and threatening the lonesome thinkers.
Tinker with the facts
until it looks more like opinion.
Spite the masses.
Organize the minions
to serve master in malice
and carry out more of the tragic
acts that should lead to a magic solution. 

The Establishment Cannot Condemn The Institution. 

Don't know the time.
Searching for light.
You don't want a fight.
You'll be here tonight
and I know.
It can be taxing
waxing militant
about ignorance
until asked about real world news.
Paid dues in desecrated discipline.
Adrenaline laced pace
charged by selective media
you purport across selected mediums
where the keys smoke faster than the barrel.
Times that travel with the spark
behind the scenes
and in the dark.
A pool of sharks starved for chum
and here we come:
The vilified led in the late
to await the murky waters.
Found it harder to swim at night.
Can't get right
or get away.
Not again.
Not today.
Cussed at if we walk away
by activists of today
that will not buy a ticket
or picket,
or die tomorrow
for what the same sunlight suicide crusade
that they raved about two days ago. 

Way too dark
Can't see your fist
but graze my chin
and say I tripped
if asked how the stagnant tumbled.
Bastards to the belligerent bastion.
Factions cloaked concealing daggers.
Belting out the boisterous chatter.
Swinging rifles after trial.
Burning buildings after verdict.
Lord knows something serves a purpose.
Lord knows you're less angry than nervous.
Under pressure self implied.
Switch maneuvers. Exercise.
Pressed for diamonds. Futile goals
when pressed for time to crack the coals
and over time, it should've changed
but after hours look the same. 

Certain hours.
Curtain powers.
Inbox then inside the space.
Square pegs between the legs.
Liquor and kegs.
Before that?
Skim through the facts,
plan to react
and stab us when we trim the fat.
Toss reason in the vat and boil it brown.
Add revolution. Tear it down.
Make sure it drowns in each batch.
Whenever we break the latch
or find a way to break the seal,
your soul reveals no tolerance.
Common sense the rarest deal.
Anarchy on eighty proof.
So many sips.
You puke the truth.
Extend recollection.
Examine direction.
Don't question my digestion
while seated in the crowded section
where the nose bleeds
and they throw seeds
at passersby who won't watch the game.
Claimed and you don't know my name.
Assumption the sharpened blade.
You will swing and slice in light
but will you vex under the shade? 

Way too dark.
That's why I stand still.
Way too much.
That's why I chill
and just because I'm drifting,
don't think your anger is uplifting.
You are not the rise of man.
You are warm milk and ceiling fan. 

Say your prayers.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Pink & Peach & Photographs"

"Pink & Peach & Photographs" 

Our colors are a little cloudy.
Very dusty.
Somewhat faded.
Not much luster mustered
from the same sunlight
that once bounced off of your hair
before washing over your fairer hue. 

We don't talk much anymore
but I feel your tone
like that of a daily conversing.
Unnerving how concerning I become
when we do interact
I'm sure
but I feel the need to ensure
that you are better than okay. 

Been away for years.
Had our share of tears.
Things we have yet find some humor in,
Promised we our daughters
the richest portion of our rainbow
but as far as rain goes,
we've no clouds left to offer. 

From sought to fought,
the thought that only one lost
is a lie the heart cannot profess.
Bright red over stress and tension.
Not to mention
what it looks like
when you look right
and I see no wrong in admiration. 

Consistent fascination
even to this day.
Words hidden in stanzas
I'll likely never say
even if the chance was earned.
Dedicated pages of phrases
to my fume and fancy of you
from our large umbrella
to polka dots, jeans and boots
to pink passion fruit
as sweet in memory
as it was that night in November. 

Wrote to remember the touch.
Recall the blush.
Relive the rush.
Moments we'd frequent
before it all was hushed.
The longest lasting thrill
before the moistened chill
of black that spilled like ink
with streaks of grey across my kitchen sink. 

I think
and it all returns.
Every twist and turn.
Every lesson learned
and every roundabout
but well without solution
like pollution to my better wishes. 

Your hips and tone in switches.
All of your favorite dishes.
Salt and Pepper tomato business
and allergies to certain fishes. 

Hell this must be. 

Left so much we on the table
that the world must wonder
what would've transpired. 

Before scratches and rust,
Gloss replaced the dust
and we would shimmer with every kiss. 

Once heard that
with every glimmer of something new,
there will be a shade or two
on which the mind will rotate
to that which only ever lasts
in the past. 

Now that time has passed,
the best of our colors serve
to display our mixture in a fixture
as permanent as that picture. 

Handle my colors with care
and I will remain there. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Thursday, July 23, 2015

"Sheet Rock"

"Sheet Rock" 

Definitive deconstruction.
Roundabout collision.
My position as confusing
as the religion of the suicidal.
Pressure tidal
so I hold tight and fast
to that which might last
only as long as this reflection.
Detection of inflection.
Per notice of my motives,
I may need protection.
I hear them speak
but do they ever listen?
When I shine and glisten,
do I seem dull?
When I withhold a little,
can they peer into my skull
and see what I would like to say?
I try to hide away.
Cover it all
but familiarity has stained these walls
and the sponge is dingy. 

Floor beneath my feet flimsy.
Ceiling less appealing
revealing the opportunity to fail.
Small cracks and it is frail.
The only enduring constant in this hour
are visible reminders of just how much power
I never really had. 

At one point, I was glad. 

I smiled to cope
in hope of turning the page.
I tied the ropes
in knots that resembled the rage
that I kept far from my disposition.
My position still undecided.
Love unrequited
I've offered to the furnace.
Favor so well furnished
that time would have it burn slow
just to make sure that I know
that some things are worth salvaging. 

Life lines these inner cavities.
Cavalry of ghosts
that used to kick down doors.
Evidence of thoughts
that intermingled with the floor.
Dust trapped feelings
that lay strong against the ceiling
and four listless sides
that will impart no healing. 

Head in the corner.
Shoulders between ridges.
Eyes on the former
link between bridges.
Bridges in turn
I have burned in elation.
Now their remnants
and this room have relation. 

Freely the paint chips
that rubs against my neck.
It takes me on trips
and keeps me looking back.
Chips become chunks.
Dirty smudges on my knuckles.
No semblance of support
for when my knees would buckle. 

Chuckles seep through the cracks...

I ask "What's Funny?!"
but they just run from me.
No retort.
Never talking back.
Perceived that tales of frustration
would illicit conversation.
every breach fills me with consternation. 

Creaks in the crevices.
Air between toes
but no sunlight in areas
where darkness won't disclose
all that erodes eventually.
Contingency the blades
that have yet to come down.
I have drowned in anticipation.
Fixation upon fixtures
that try to uphold the integrity
of a place lacking so much more. 

Each break like open pores
and tears offer no sufficient moisture. 

Fortress of forfeiture no more fortified
than the eyes that have kept it somewhat together.
Well wishes in the form of fairer weather.
A norm this place knew rarely.
The blades spin on an angle.
They dance.
They flail.
They dangle.
Glowing angels that come to haunt me.
They taunt me with the truth.
Around my neck the noose
that three of four expected.
Each of the four neglected
to reach out with my back facing them.
I can only trace them as high
as the cries they have collected.
Unprotected by foundation
or the cover that hovers,
the lover of the last
will claim refuge in the crash
and the rubble.
Called me humble.
Called me meek.
Four in silence finally speak
when no one else is around
to observe where voices leak.
No more favor I should seek.
No one else will hear the sounds
when from years above the ground
all that surrounds starts falling down.
After a boom louder than gavels,
over time the voices travel
from foundation to the mantle. 

My position beneath the gravel. 

When they talk,
it all unravels...... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz 

Inspired By: "These Walls" by Kendrick Lamar

Tuesday, July 14, 2015



Lead with the lie
the tears that you've cried
eyes puffy and dried
the comfort you need
these colors that bleed. 

Air I swear I can't breathe. 

Left me there and I leave.
Left me spinning.
I heave
and I'm dizzy.
I'm sickly
but call me and I'm busy. 

I promise no knowledge. 

Against all insistence,
you fed your persistence
and led the resistance.
You fought me relentless 

only to fling your armor
far across the harbor.
Dead weight under water.
Depth the only charmer 

but I want to breathe. 

Surpassed the submerged
with no urge to survive.
Preserved in the dirge
of what never could thrive. 

Not alive.
Not to rive and wallow.
Nothing there to swallow
when at best it was hollow. 

Against my advisement,
you sever the ties with
the clouds in your eyes
decisions that bind
precision and time
no fear that you'll find 

that which you support knowingly. 

Knowing me won't make it better
and showing me may take forever
when I can't see.


Everything is red
from everything we've said
now everything is dead
yet I drown above the ocean. 

Emotions ever present.
The refreshing, effervescent
expectations smell so stale.
Long terms of short scale
inhaled and regurgitated.
Heard we made it.
We are facade.
Nervous ways that we stave the rod.
The careful call of calamity.
This endless cycle a tragedy.
Drag for me and I keep the dirt
and when trading places, I keep the hurt 

and we love to flirt
those imperfections
shine the light
we shun reflection.
Swift dereliction.
Some sacrifice.
Took in the poison.
It smells so nice
and I start to choke.
Can't feel the clouds.
Can't see the smoke.
Can't create logic.
Far out of socket.
So out of pocket.
Swollen and toxic. 

....... I can't breathe. 

Maintain verse.
These chains around my trachea.
You say
"If pain hurts,
then why smile when you're spanking her?"
I protest.
You throw tests and tighten rope.
You know best.
I show less
than those provoked.
You will see me fluctuate in colors
before you understand
that you need not suspend and hover
to gain the upper hand.
Other than,
and another way,
you advise what you despise
then the look the other way

but I know the truth:
whether judged as saint or sinner,
time you've concealed will soon reveal
that your air is getting thinner........ 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Saturday, June 27, 2015



Promise I nothing.
Divine to find something
under the layers of drifters
searching like sifters
as if it would chip the pavement.
Came with ambition
but no actual mission.
Just word play and emissions.
The buy time tradition
held in high regard
when things get hard. 

Promise I next to...
.....very much near
to the point where it all around you
steers clear of existence.
That persistence in your stroll.
Facets of control
you have all but begged me for.
Lay upon me like bare floors:
hard, bare and cold.
Deep cover the lonesome hover
of nightly positioning.
Glass broken and glistening.
Decorative, desolate shrapnel.
Moments you've tackled
the hassle of wondering how they got there
and in the air.
and in your hair so greasy.
Larger shards removed freely.
Smaller crumbs discovered in leisure.
Concrete erupts in seizures
to incur the upheaval of housing.
Scrounging about the brainstorm.
Sudden thoughts upon temporary norms
and form will not take
until evening breaks the sun into sections. 

Promise I forever
that never is more commonplace.
There's the chase
and the race
for a taste
and its all fun.
The lead pipe. The handgun.
The one near the end of suffering
and he who will come to know it
soon after blowing it
upon that which still knows no sift. 

So let them drift. 

The least of worthwhile gifts
invoking some form of commemoration.
Cold World with few warm situations.
Such a frigid life.
If not for strife,
recreation would lack luster.
Hush her. Rush him.
Touch them and be we
who can't relate and will not relent.
Consent of deliberately blind eyes
that cry somehow
when what was planned now
is still more how
than one who now mingles with the gutter
where butter was a bonus
and the best bread was stale
to the wounded and frail
but so few could tell
given their desire driven grit
much to the chagrin
of pompous, manufactured wit. 


What solace accompanies this observation? 

Promised I over years.
Promise I won't forget.
Promised eyes shut to open ears:

I won't promise you shit. 

Now if you'll excuse me...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz