"Love And Water"

"Love And Water"

One splash and I'm losing my mind.
One sip and I'm falling in line.
A few dips and you'll fall for it thrice.
Don't trip. I once thought it was nice. 

Those are just thoughts. 

I could spill some more.
Make it seem enticing.
Let me thrill some more.
Let me feel some poor
when I fill some poor
mind with the grand design. 

You're fine?
You decline?
No?
You will some more? 

Never underestimate the ability of a lie. 

It is a race.
Fast pace.
The agility to fling you into obscenity
adorned as affinity in all it's divinity.
Synchronicity feigned.
Their reaction the same.
When they call out your name,
your conviction is tamed.
Your defense is now lame.
Clarity slowly mamed
and there's no time to waste.
Rub it out and erase. 

Would've braced yourself
but there are chasers to swallow.
Bottom of the shelf
and the remnants to follow.
Wonder and wallow
as it runs from your pores
like children from chores
and only a few tears can restore the moisture. 

Don't regret when you sweat.
That's called a life lesson.
Don't cry if you're dry.
Make dust from transgression. 

Even when your kidney starts to clench,
thirst must not be quenched. 

The fowl fare from the stench
so thirst must not be quenched. 

Life will dare. Don't relent.
Thirst must NEVER be quenched. 

In your heart you will wince
but THIRST MUST NEVER BE QUENCHED. 

Left feeling full, weak and timid
after gorging on a gallon
pushing far past limits
never set by the standard barer.
So if the issue is standard,
why is the receiver a bitch or a bastard?
Never outlined the hazard.
Just tossed them on the train
to see some trees when the forest
could make better use of the rain. 

That pit in your stomach called pain
is nefarious.
It will carry us
as far as we wish to run
but like wild game caught in vines,
you will not escape the gun.
The pit is having fun
and will see you bawl
and beg it for another taste
just to make sure that you fall. 

Try to crawl dried up.
Like your limbs tied up
and your skin rides up.
Can't pretend. Pride up. 

Can't defend so peruse.
Can't contend so just choose.
What's a sin to new rules?
What's a win if you lose? 

One will keep you alive.
One will thrive as you concede.
One will help you survive. 

One is a want more than a need. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Proximity"

"Proximity"

The hardest thing I'll do
is think of how to look at you
and smile.

Honestly,
I thought it would take awhile
to place you in this setting.
Loathsome trials so unrelenting,
a dozen moments worth regretting,
a hundred miles and no forgetting still...

The door sill sealed
to these sound proof chambers.
Resembled infants in their manger
seeking refuge from it all
where the darkness crawls
and holes are punched in walls
and bottles are hollowed out.

There's nothing left to talk about.

Conformed to this routine.
Crush it all.
Burn it clean.
Stare at the steam and inhale vapor
then do us both a favor
and look away when you address me.

I've yet to perfect the task
and my masks are worn.
Most of them torn from my face
by hands that used to soothe.

Rather rude to norm:
The misinformed
but we are so very astute,
aren't we?

Nothing daunting.
You don't taunt me.
Terribly gaunt to be concise.
What you want you don't say twice.
You play nice until it earns no thrill.
The sudden chill of altered will
withdrawn beneath stints of indecency.

Life visits frequently
to remind us of that
which we try not to recall.

The fall.

Who stands to be victimized
if we both proceed to plummet?
Met you at the summit
on the very cusp of insanity.
How clear does one think
while pushed to the brink
dangling loosely from the edge?
Released my hand from the ledge

but the descent felt like a lifetime in the making.

Found some distance.
Captured grace.
Lasted briefly until your face
found reason to incite me further.
In a murmur I have cursed you.
By virtue alone I am thrown
yet I survive this fall
albeit with broken bones
and I still have not received levity.

You lay there next to me.
Blood you swore you'd never taste
has gravely disfigured your face.
Can't turn away and you lay there.
Sufficient to say that we'll stay here
and my difficulty will remain true:

The hardest thing I'll do
is think of how to look at you....

...................and smile.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"The One With The Lights"

"The One With The Lights" 

She peers over her shoulder occasionally. 

When turning her head,
it looks like she is daring
her past to catch up to her.
New her.
Newer.
Never knew her
but I almost wish I had.
I'm sure her past was as alluring
as the present she displays with grace. 

One glimpse of her face
and I commit her to memory.
Symphony of billowing leaves
whisper rhythm in her stroll.
Delicate yet in control.
Not defined by role
or how others may perceive her.
I believe her. 

Believer I've become in her presence
in the most perfectly possible essence
of effort displaced without twisting one's face.
Her countenance holding firm
to dreams one can't pretend to conjure.
She knows triumph and forfeiture
but will shy away from
an open display of either. 

I
Need
Her.

Like lust was the conclusion forgone
positioned well within a zone
next to awe, admiration
and other indications of desire. 

She is the fire that I presume
does not intend to consume
but rather to serve as a plume
on which all surrounding is illuminated.
I've found myself drawn to her luster
with more intrigue that one would muster
for what took three forevers to grasp. 

Hands clasp as she speaks gently.
Wondered if she would befriend me
or think that I'm strange...
Maybe she'll find that endearing.
In the clearing of busy streets
cluttered with faces to greet,
everyday existence in all its volume
appears meaningless without her inclusion. 

Like nothing I've ever witnessed...
She is distinction.
Whilst life struggles to climb the rungs,
she is true ascension.
That next dimension.
My paradise
although I'll likely never earn
disclosure of her sacrifice. 

If emotion lined her wrists,
she would enlist resistance
in the form of her penchant
for persistence in squalls.
Calls from the caring
blaring as she passes by.
Few would trust a try
merely for the sake of wonder

and she is wondrous to me. 

Mystique of modern art
in the form of thick lips,
French tips and milky skin
encapsulating within
a mind that knows no limit
to what it will discover.
She is the marvel never uncovered
that hovers over frequently.
Mystery I do not wish to solve
for the sake of being involved and infatuated.
Saturated along my path
are remnants of her last stroll
and I see everything around me
under these broken light poles.... 

Mercy Me. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz