"Pull Over, Please..."

"Pull Over, Please..."
 
Gained so much more of myself
the day I lost my mind.
Sanity for Levity.
A tradeoff that quite honestly
still weighs on me heavily.
Saw comfort for the ruse it was.
It all once looked heavenly
but those were dreams.
I can't expect complacency
to be more than it seems.

Started as a stream
finding land far from it's lake
where snakes were scarcely found
until drowned by hours counting.
We're mounting but not bothered.
Deaf on the surge of slaughter
grasping near
from our peers
to clasping ears
that would stay here.
Stream is nigh
but not high enough.
Worn our tires rough.
No tread.
I swear this back seat
is the bed
I wish I wouldn't need eventually.
Extensive the pleas surrounding.
The warning signs are blinding.
Sounds that of alarms
Blaring.
Chiming
but by then,
we'll be confined
and just fine for now.
Stream like lines
that now
have coursed across whole streets.
Thought for sure it would've peaked
by now.

Head tucked deep beneath.
I've truly lost it
somewhere in this sheet.....
.....I feel it slipping away
with each moment gathered to pray
with people I'd only said "hi" to.

Familiar comfort,
You've dropped by to
distract me from my search presumably.
Offered free merch where looters be.
Referred to that perch
as a front porch once.
Flowers wouldn't float much
but this stream merged with the river
to deliver displacement.

I taste fear,
I hear light
and can view behind sounds
all while sitting down.

I Have Lost My Mind.

Can't figure to find words
other than what's heard on the radio.
Really though:

I swore it was just a stream
like a day ago.

They may know
or not
that I've given up on plot
and this corner is what rocks me peacefully.
Sort of found a piece of me.
Hadn't lost it all apparently.

Not yet.

Cool with open windows.
Huddled with eventual widows
and mothers whose children
won't make the trip.
One strong shake will tip
and this boat might capsize
and kill us all.
We don't swim well.
Sun is leaving us.
This won't end well
so for now,
far enough is halfway.

It's been years since then
and I'm still not above it
so instead of inquiring
again,
let's just change the subject.

.....where's my mind....

Harder to find now
than the start of the stream then.
Forced to find time
for this boy among men
to be perceived as such
but seriously, though:
If it isn't too much,

.....where is it.....

Bright enough to burn
but little left of the wick.
Mingled with distraction
but my attention would not stick
and this has gone too far
and this air is getting thick
and I can feel my throat closing...

...can we stop?

I'm getting sick....

 













Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"When Days Would Dream"

"When Days Would Dream" 

More than a month
and I'm still reminiscing.
Enough time flew by
for a "Hi" before kissing...
...wishing then that time would freeze
until my knees no longer buckled.
Thoughts huddled together
like clouds before the change in weather.
I was in the greatest state of whatever
whether or not she's noticed.
Took years to grow this
strain of mature affection.
In reflection,
these feelings were barely dormant.
Distance and the world itself
rendered as mere doormats
to an encounter worth the endurance.
The assurance was the fact
that I'd saved every single scrap
of sacrifice dedicated to her
because I knew the aim
was to see the face I've claimed
to be worth what life became. 

Her voice wet in ears
and her tone just as moist.
Would travel far from home
for her voice alone.
Aura trapped
yet flowing free behind
a silhouette well defined
by the standards of onlookers
amassed in awe and intrigue.
Speed itself served her in detail.
She,
frail in appearance to the provoked
but enchanted and firm
to those aware of what she invokes.
Weeks since
and I can't rinse the swift
or the wishful
or the darkest of dirty thoughts
from this mind still processing the moments.
On this recollection
I would push for delay
just to relive the day
that Love,
Lust
and Desire spoke to me.
It was there that I left hope floating;
encroaching upon the deliberate
for what felt so close to the knowing.
Instance where air has no temperature
and distance doesn't control me.
Place where what I'm holding
is the only feeling plausible.
Horrible to recall
trying not to fall
as I forced the back pedal away.
Words that we would say,
embraces we can't talk about
but knew were ever present
on seconds to the stare.

Days the weight of years
and I can feel the separation
like this desperation
all at once in my thoughts.
Characteristics of a lack of patience
I wasn't taught.
Deviantly distraught.
Desire dancing with depression
in obsession so obscene
that I pray the dreams remain subconscious.
Wholly conscious of how I view her.
Knew her in ways
that contradict imagination
but the sensation is just as intense.
Incensed by her air space.
Entranced by her fair face
and skin as smooth
as stanzas spoken after first sips.
First trip into this mind
where lips climb
past word play
to serve an extended visit
where hips become barriers
between limit
and the longing languished and lamented..
..presented is she before me
adorn in the glory of the Supreme
whose screams breach the skies
until her cries release the evening torrents. 

These are the visions
sure to torment me
each day 

and I've yet to walk away from her....

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Astral"

"Astral"

Wanted to be there.
Wished to see
that look of disappointment. 
Thought it would help with the atonement
that was due to you
so long before this.
Hoped to notice the end
long before the fork
where my path wasn't as narrow.
You reach out for my shadow now.
Longed for a second chance
to show you
that I know how
and I know now
what I've ignored for years.

I should've been there
before the tears formed.
Before clutching my charm
was the most painful gratification.
Solace forgone
for the sake of consternation
washing violently over your face.
Your grace is amazing.
Steadfast love never changing
but holding all the parts
cannot protect a growing heart
torn between where life interacts
and one so desperate to keep it intact.

I wish I'd noticed.

The anger that wouldn't leave you alone.
That nervous shake in your voice.
The raw fear in your tone.
Lectures lengthy and lost to ears
on what you will not condone.
My call log.
A hundred texts
that have riddled my phone.
Observe you sob as you hold.
Sidewalk so brittle and old.
Wanting to chastise and scold
but my skin is getting cold.
Wanted to be there for you.
Wanted to comfort you too.
Hoped I would chase tears from eyes
but I'm the reason you cry.

Soon before help would arrive,
I hoped we'd get up and go.
Wanted to ward off the spectacle.
Didn't want you on the show.
I had no chance.
Yes. I know.
Just one new wrinkle in this story.
Another sign of the times
like those who were lost before me.
I'm what assumption expects.
The child whole cities will fight about
causing riots with fires out.
The man that Poets will write about.
My life which should still be talked about
will only incite debate.
I know your pain they'll saturate.
You'll cross through years of plains you'd navigate
for me.

Wished I could tell you
how selfish I felt
while knelt before us.
Rendered helpless
watching me lay as I once did:
Still and stubborn
while you struggle to lift me
once more
as you successfully did
so many mornings before.

Hoped I could be of assistance
but I'm out of vision.
That for you
and this from me
is not what was envisioned.
You'll beg and plead
as life impedes.
You'll say it was your fault
yet from where I stand,
all you demand
will not shift this result.

Wanted to be there
and here I stand
while lifeless in your hands
yet I can't reach out
and I can't touch you.
You rub my forehead.
I can't kiss you.
Your love I've misused.
Pain I can't diffuse.
I know we've had our issues
but I just wish I could tell you
how much I truly miss you.

I just....hoped I'd be close enough.....

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Blue"

"Blue"

Well done
and hell spun
and charred to my furthest extent.
So done,
I'm outdone
that all I could think to offer was spent.
Tossed me and flipped me
and you just would not relent.
Pull up a stake from the tent
and try your best to breach me.
You'll have to do better.
Elastic as plastic
and tougher than leather.

Exposed to the point
that I forgot how to cry.
Pulled me within an inch
in a pinch
where a flinch
would be worth much less to try.
Might find some sign
if I opened my eye.
Somewhat enclosed
but you pull
and you pry
and I start getting dry
but you won't let me die.

Tortured me long enough
to bring some tender to pink.
Just enough tilling
and grilling
and sealing
to make me think.
Concise in tactics
like that of a shrink.
Inches away from the brink
but close enough to
guide the blade that would follow
the course you have set forth.
The easiest swallow.

Displayed this setting
to those who bothered to care.
Figured me too well conditioned
to portion
or section
or share.
Figured out how best
to take me there.
Barely in need of repair.
Fondled me
like fingers through
follicles of hair
and furnished me fickle and fair.

Barely apart.
This barely the start.
I for others to please.
I am flaunted while teased
while tazed
while fazed
while wondering when.
Will it be longer?
Will I turn again?
Fixed before friends,
I am naked yet clothed.
Tend to my temperature.
Climate controlled.
Savored me like that of
savior when they kissed his feet.
Worked long enough
through the tough
that your penchant for rough
leaves you somewhat complete.

Finished before one knew of the start.
Barely a glance.
Hardly a chance.
Just the first part.
Just the preview
and we knew the risks involved
if you wouldn't go further.
Flirting with heat,
I am removed from the seat
and thrown around
just for the presentation.
Thin is this layer of hesitation
for fear of rejection
and subjection to trials.
Who would dare claim me early?
Why aim for something so vile
and say this much is
all that you've wanted?
Have you not trifled and taunted?
Am I not vexed and haunted
but the seconds that you
have exposed me to?
Finished already?
No more to do?
No more from you?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Fatigue"

"Fatigue"

Saw Wesley with the squadron
ready to snipe
like vipers ready to strike 
flying across assumption..
The gullible guards with gumption
performing like slaves
in front of master's furnace.
Selfless service
doing cartwheels
for this car dealed away for cheap
complete with C4 furnished
to plow through towers of insurgents
but they earn the right of discernment
concerned with me
sitting next to my brother
Who knelt with me and my helmet.
I guess I'm going to hell with
the patriot too consumed by fear
to lend his ear
and clear his eyes.
Eye have not the dye
Eye has seen dysfunction.
Eye wished not to function.
I am not the one, then.

Was drafted genuinely
to lead a high life
without the champagne,
banquet
or the rocky mountains.
I'll serve as fountain
for those in need of cleansing
but rinsing
won't make the soul less black.
We hold these facts
while attacked by the media
deployed in contort
and
employed to report
on our minimal importance
to their life and times.
Find me stabbed with
the knife that was planted
so far after the fact
that the entire city knows
of that horrific video.
Cuffed me while he held me down.
Knees mashed into crackling ground.
Blade to neck.
I'm smiling now
and you know John is smiling down
or up from beneath us.
You decide when you need us.
We bear the fruit
and you still execute
worse than those who kill as believers.

Peruse, Pitiful Perceiver
before you get back to me:
Who else wants to label me criminal?
Not the average peaceful piece
so understand if my speech is cynical.
Time was of the essence.
Now,
it's much more than critical.
Days before funeral service,
you deepen your voice
and call us hypocritical.
I was mad enough for the movement.
I was mad enough for improvement
but it's hard not to question purpose
when there is such disservice
from the nervous to be seen
and lurkers on the scene
who strain the hurt in front of screens
who retweet
and post
and meme
then wait for the next new thing.
I knew things were going south
and still struggled with the high road.
I rode the silence through violence
and strategic persecution.
A dilution well deserved
for he who maintains reserve
to the point of conservatism.
I am not exempt.
Criticism holds no allegiance
So we lean with the lane
whether sane or in.
Was often near the pane
peering in at the outer world
where we are hurled into iniquity.
This life don't owe shit to me.
This life won't get shit from me.
To live this life....
....is to kill me.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"(K)new Better"

"(K)new Better"
 
If you ask me,
it was always too soon.
Soul portioned between two rooms ...
like cells without padding
so gladly explain how this prevents
one from telling the other
to go to sleep
while the former weeps beneath sheets.
Savant of long speech
to beseech the savage mind
to take more time than offered.
Hopefully that will end the slaughter.
Father drinks
and
Mother thinks
when
son and daughter never make it home.
You would make it known
but what's the point?
You wonder?
Were you not pulled under
by that fear
of who would disappear
before you got the chance to free them?
Fuck that Carpe Diem
and Magna Carta.
This life is harder.
You say today:
"We need to pray"
but you want praying partners.
Concept of self
left on the shelf
gave up on being cleaned.
Cobwebs and dust
distort your vision
until true religion.
Forsake your genes and
a mean fee for jeans
and sneak diss in line for sneakers.
She found my size
but I don't need her.
Would rather use my greed to plead
for the parents that still grieve.
Give father one more night
for bedtime stories.
Can mother have less worry
and more affection
for her child that lacks direction
but won't close the map?
You sing old hymms and clap
and then nap on the action.
My reaction wasn't like this.
My reaction was polite,
shit,
I might be my own indictment.
I'll admit that I don't like this
so close the door to both rooms.
Late tears won't provoke moons
to urge sunlight to come soon.
No time for light.
It's too soon.

I'd extend my sadness
past the porch and grass
when I see what cash did
after they recorded the blast
like it really mattered much in court.
Your retort the idiotic patriotic
simple similarity while somewhat symbiotic
with the stance of
"that's just how it is."
No frills is the result
when the chill of feeling fault
no longer slows the choices made.
I treat this world like one’s grave
and I’m not ready to die.
Not like this.
Struggled trying to write this
without looking like my wrists are healing.
The appealing feeling of concealing a truth
that looms over like low hanging fruit
is the precursor to my confusion and stupor.
Threw your judgment and conviction
at one tired man’s decision
not to contradict his value.
Has disgust not earned its value
compared to what was endured?
So sure in your stance
that you won’t glance my way
until I sit
or kneel
or lay
instead of standing as you say.
Sing of my oppression
at the next congressional.
Belt it out like a years anticipated
visit to the confessional.
Peel off the professional
and embrace what is real.
You can stand still
and refuse to feel
but contempt will fill the room
for delaying your guilt
like it’s too soon…

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Dissection"

"Dissection"

You were my reason
for my pleading with life;
believing that time 
should not push forward
while moments like this happened.
Wished to stand between reaction
and initial intent.
What would not be
we would invent.
That's why it felt real.
What was felt
and what I feel
are as blurred a line as any
and the stitches have not healed within me yet.
You might regret,
but please don't relent.
Just tell me:

This Is Not Love,
is it?
This Is Separation. 

Distracted by elation.
Slipped behind the blind fixation.
Foundation of fissures.
Foolishly running with scissors
until dismembered in defeat.
Do you remember how discreet
your retreat wasn't?
Was it enough to see
the least exposed part of me
to make that your excuse?
Left me laying here in languish
to tend and bandage through the anguish.
How does that not spell abuse?

In your truce
and your soft words
heard as familiar
as the first long conversing
are poorly hidden hints of rehearsing.
Your aim to nurse the situation
through contrite tone and dissertation
Made this feel more like visitation
moments before the door would close.
Who noticed your voice
from the choice of dozens?
I came on risk
and you left me nothing.
Would not desist.
No.
We both felt something.
Just mind your wrist.
You swing blades while running
and your wind bends metal.
Before you swing,
let's get this settled:

This Is Not Love,
is it?
This Is Displacement.

Less than sufficient replacement
running in place with hope
for what was not as it seemed.
Distance of the dreamer.
The believer left benign
maligned and mangled
in what we both said we wanted.
Still haunted by what was heard.
Words that cleave the knees and ankles
left me sprawling,
had me crawling
as a sinner to the altar
but I was meant to be sacrificed.

From this height,
the light revealed the vision.

This Is Not Love.
This Is Incision.

Made your decision
without the degree of precision
needed should you operate.
Could have at least thought to sedate
before you grabbed the scalpel.
I've been trampled.
I've been robbed.
Shrugged in scrubs
to finish the job.
Would pull myself up with the handle
but as we kissed,
my wrists dismantled
now rest on the mantle in mockery.
We were hypocrisy
and I fought to force it
but can't fight the forceps.
You have me exposed.
Went to reach for the rose
as if there were no thorns.
Thread and tissue torn
and I still cling to the illusion.
I leave each lodged in my skin
because I fear the profusion.
I long for you
but you're hurting me.
You brush
but I rush with some urgency.
You push away then scream emergency.
Why the delay?
Why not?
Just murder me

Because This Is Not Love.
No.

This Is Surgery.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"What Remains"

"What Remains"

Remnants rarely wash away
time that we have tossed away
like fray against gutters
clogged and cluttered
barely able to muster sufficient drain
so that the stains at least would rinse
whilst the pain remains
ever so plain.

Uncommon in moment
yet common enough
to be snuffed from headlines.
There is a deadline for breaking news
but no limit on the view from a block away
where you were.
There you lay.
Helpless.
Helped less by this world
and the decisions you've made in it
expedited by thoughts of you
often diminished
until magnified in circumstantial retrospect.

Guilt has reminded me
how routinely we respect the dead
and think nothing of the living.
We disregard the giving
and downplay kind gestures
but are never far from lecture
when life pulls you back into the mud.

Our hands are much dirtier
than that of yours, brother.
I promise you that much.

To touch your shoulder
or bring you in after handshakes
for a hug and a kind word
I've unfortunately heard and observed
more than initiated.
What I have left of my own regret
will not grace stanza
or the podium facing the congregation.
Our conversations will not carry
past the casket.
Thoughts have outlasted
any words I would think to say anyway.

When life exits,
entering in squalls
are the calls from distant contacts
looking for contact
like an abrupt breach in contract
where the clause clearly states
that they can only sedate their guilt
with lies they've built
stitched together with stories
of how much you've meant to them

but until they can say your name,
you're "Him."

What you mean to what is heard
in contrived words won't matter.
Makeshift remorse will run its course
and contrite times will shatter
and be swept away the next day

but on this day,

I don't want to stall
or recall
or remember
what I'll never forget.
Just promise those who loved you most
that you left with no regret
because even if you did,
know that we're not done with you yet

and we never will be.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

In Everlasting Memory of Gerard Howard.

Rest Well.

I Hope That You Have Found Every Measure Of Peace In The Next Life That You Couldn't Find In This Life.

"Directions Home"

"Directions Home" 

You've lost your way.
It's hard to say.
Thought we'd play
but no more today.
Remembered you far away.
Trouble was fun then.
Could run when things got heavy.
Not like we weren't ready really.
There's just too steep a price
to let you feel me.
Kneeling in a pout.
Wouldn't think to kick you out.
Whenever I search for doubt,
you look up,
open your mouth
and I release it there...

I care for how you may take it.
You lay before me naked
and I'm not feeling the vibe.
Not initial. The residual.
Events that ensue critical thinking.
Enough blinking
and that sinking feeling finds me.
Your arms find their place behind me
yet I blindly pull away from hugs
with hands that have traced
and tugged you closer.
Lead you over after travel
through the raised and broken gravel
of these streets best meant for walking.
Talking in exclusive tone
as we'd roam
when we shouldn't be alone. 

Be a long way away from me.
Don't ask me if
I said that in sincerity.
Verily I say
that I'm the most irresistible
bad idea that you've had up to this point
and you're the most decadent
vial of vindictive venom
yet to veer far from my lips.
So much that it slowly kills
when I look to rinse with every sip.
Mind foggy from trips
taken with vague intent
to the inquisitive, anyways
just to buy time
for the latter means of a few days.
How many ways we've mixed these wires.... 

.....tired truly.
Knew we would ignore
how fast the time passed.
I'm saying,
one of us should remain cognizant,
right?
Deeply draped, disfigured sights
indulged upon at night
bound to drag far to the right
where we crash,
fight
and yell
over how it was all derailed.
Frail in retrospect.
You fancy your fear of neglect
and I'm still here 

trying to make crooked lines intersect. 

We reflect progress so hard against the grain
that only confusion and pain
can serve as some sort of foundation
to halt the speed as all
is sure to come crashing down
so turn around
and don't look down
until the porch looks just like yours.
I'll lock this door
after retrieving your spare key.
Not today.
Please.
Go away.
I've nothing left to say.
Save my time:

Find your way. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"America: The Soundtrack"

"America: The Soundtrack"

You are not awake.
You're just a wake away
from hash tag homage.
If eyes could see
this form of freedom,
one would brand it bondage.
You brandish knowledge
and speak violence when provoked
where you otherwise would choke
except to proclaim that you're woke.
Slumber seen in fading vision.
Sandman takes his time.
Tradition.
He then robs you blind.
Omission.
Tragic price less sacrificed
when gleefully relinquished.
I on the other hand have seen this
and it lends me to insomnia.
Blood pushing the thermometer.
The world weeps. I can't silence her.

My ears bleed.
They hear seeds strewn in prejudice.
They fear screams
and all things used to measure this
dilapidated state.
Hapless banter over
happenstance as vast
as laps I ran with no escape
that look less coincidental
as frequency takes shape.

Your level of consciousness
Is just a consequence away
from countless RIP memes.
In a world where
what you post is who you be
and freedom is apparently a dream.
You preach about being free
and dress in chains that muzzle your voice
giving you a false sense of choice.
Wrapped in entitled hope.
Oblivious to the real fight.
Slippery slopes.
Into a pool full of lies.
Tight ropes.
Wash it all clean with the soap
but don't look too close.
Beware the dirt behind your ears.
Beware of what it will reveal.
I can't stop my emotions from bubbling over.
It causes my body to shudder
at the sorrows of the world.
Despair doesn't play fair with me.
The world weeps. I can't stop the screams.

My pen bleeds.
Struggles to breathe under the sea of bigotry.
Scared of freedom
because freedom doesn't look free
and justice sleeps with partiality.
Ink dreams of peace
and my soul hides with no escape
and things look detrimental
as frequency takes shape.

I'm caught behind
these thoughts of mine.
This morbid mind....
expected less when presented more.
Not much more to find.
You've claimed the narrow
between shadows thinner than marrow
that only serve to conceal the curve
of bow and arrow.
Bass to the base of my face.
Every pace blaring.
So long this near,
I barely hear
and you've done less for caring.
Trouble trouncing in treble
and I can't change the key.
Lies and deceit stuck on repeat
and you won't change for me.

You compete to have your voice heard.
How much do you deserve?
Are you worth the playback?
Will I get my pay back?
Didn't you say that?
Should we even listen?
Is something wrong?
Ran out of songs
yet you still charge admission?
What good are we to pay the fee
for health care when our welfare
is as marginal as he
who silenced me
behind finger and trigger?
Wouldn't call me boy
or dare think to call me "Nigger"
but statistics and figures have gathered the slack.
Your knee in my back.
You puncture my lung.
You remaster this track.
Oldest song still sung in sorrow.
A new feature tomorrow.
A new remix to borrow.
Drew some inspiration from this nation
complete with video.
Cities hold the verses
to the nervous
called to versus
the perverse at last revealed.

Rush released for mass appeal.
Record stale and sales concealed.

Run back the tape.
Turn back the hands of fate
when life was worrying about if rent was late.
Not if time was up
and you'd never wake again.
Duped by the grins.
Can't even get a decent spin from the DJ.
His hands move faster than his mind
records spinning in rewind
yet we stand still
caught in time.
Your life.
Or mine.
You win.
I die.
A slight shuffle in rotation
causes disorder but no transformation.
You hardly blink at the change in the beat
but I recognize the cadence
of your rehearsed speech.
Mouth full of inaccuracy
and truth just out of reach.

Breathe in.
Exhale.
Repeat.
Do your words taste as good as they sound?
Are they worth my time?
What about my life?
Did you get home safe last night?
Should we believe the hype?
Are you mistaken?
You're obviously shaken
but you don't believe in stereotypes?
Tell me again why we follow the rules
when you just pick and choose
draw, win, or lose
under your white house decree?
Would you prefer to call me mulatto
or does saying half breed bitch
give you more pleasure when raping me?
Your hand on my throat.
You throw me to the ground.
But you don't pull up on the choke.
Still the oldest song we know.
Still the reason we live only to hope.
A new album for the masses.
A new notch in the whip for massa.
Finding reasons to explain our demise
complete with storyboard.
Media corrals the willing
to be witness
with top billings
to the recent killing for public sale.

Exclusive shows and private viewings
perfect to catch a glimpse of USA's
infamous endangered black males.
Yet they tell us our records won't sell.

 















Written By: Kiana D. Fitzpatrick and Devin Joseph Metz

"The Booty"

"The Booty" 

Attention captured in your stroll.
Control toyed with.
Annoyed by the cars
and light poles
and buildings
and people interrupting my focus.
No less the fact
that you don't grace my path
often enough. 

Eyes closer than hands can be.
Felt so much through what I see.
Sight a grip so firm for me
that I'd risk you noticing.
Not like you don't know if he
is sitting where I am right now
as you put on this show for free
while I sit here and wonder how
something could look so pleasing.
Defined in jeans and shorts
but in skirts you're teasing.
Slow motion stares.
Daydreaming

and I might wanna feel
just to check for a fever.
I wonder if it's real.
You can make me a believer.
You might just take my soul
if the hole gets any deeper.
And honestly,
I'd put it to my face like some speakers.

Lap as bare
as the skin I fancy.
Eyes trained when you're dancing.
Focused on your frame.
I'm sure you've noticed all the same
but they won't do what I'm thinking to.
Drinking from the fountain
of thoughts so in decent
that mere mention would command privacy.
Privately pleasuring myself
to the way your waves crash...
I can't stand you
and can't stand after release.
You my piece.
My peace through perversion
that I'm sure would enjoy the show
as often as your movement incites performance.
Sit down
and let me drown in the essence.
Make sounds
as I expound upon the presence
well hung with a tongue
keen on savoring the mixture.
I long, I eat
so have a seat
upon so permanent a fixture.

He had too much of me
Now he leaves pleasantly
Under me,
but
he's over me
So I can succeed
Wrapped in skin he never knew from within
so he shakes me
Makes me feel his
claws on my cheeks
Makes me suck his thoughts
while his mouth makes me weak
He's under me,
but
he's over me
Admiring me intensely,
awaiting the booty. 

I can't help how it bounces when I walk
or jiggle when I talk
I can twerk it in your face
and make you never leave the shade. 

A willful submission
to something naturally made
I'm BLACK and I'm seasoned with tremendous waves
Can't spell cellulite without u lit
and I'm well equipped with supreme goddess shit
You know how much knowledge I hold
in my behind without looking behind
or pressing rewind
to learn the minds of the naked indigenous
rhymes in gold mines
I tell you everything because u can hear me
I tell u to go deeper so u can learn me
So much booty,
it's immaculate
So much wisdom
it's infinitely attractive. 

Are you even ready for this jelly?
Smack it,
bite it,
choke me til I'm blue.
Cumming in waves
like when u spank me
for being bad and telling the truth.

The small of my back is as big as the bounce
so be careful when u pounce. 

Ounce for ounce,
I'd drink your water.
The taste much harder to resist
with you resting on my wrists
and my shoulders
bent over
precision in every lick
incision envisioned between the lips
Honey gathered there
lathered and soaked in spit.
I've gathered where you should sit.
You pride in provoking shit.
The Savage magic of this
soft and smooth in my grip
to bare down and tear down
relaxed with face down elated
helping the booty grow. 

How deep before we know.... 

I reach out for it when asleep...

Pulling me closer to your needs. 

Rush of lust so well defined.

Incognegro through my minds whine. 

Seal ripped fresh for fruit this tender.

Slumbers too real;
circumference you can't conceal. 

Circumstantial this mantle my chin is placed upon.

Crowned with tender meat, 
ready to beat, 
so move ya feet and praise me.

 
























This boundless blessing you gave me.....

Written By: Evelyn Rivera & Devin Joseph Metz

"After"

"After" 

Losing sleep tonight
focused on the intentional.
The physical means.
That critical delay before dreams
as detailed as the thoughts are.
I'd be lying if I said
that I fought hard
and put forth some effort
to forget it
like that's even possible.
I bottle those recollections
and seal them tight
but it all bursts before sunlight. 

Someone might understand the semantics.
I've certainly never planned this secrecy.
How well you see me
in the dark
is a stark reminder
to what has become the primer
the precursor
the first coat
the initial soaked sheet in this bed.
Eyes red in restlessness
so I'm here confessing this much
only stopping to touch consistently.
Persistence,
she's a little outdated.
We've waited and waded
and the well still hasn't run dry.
We thought less of stopping by;
choosing instead to just think
of that cool drink. 

I'd sink in
if I blink while writing
words only worth reciting
in our stints of privacy.
Forced to move about quietly
pining over a past
proven to last
when all else eventually becomes stale.
Intriguing how a concept
so frail
can offer strength
to that which is deep seated.
Relived the worst things
with the best of outcomes
until relieved of such 

when I come 

a little closer.
Mind doubled over.
Times this sober
yet still hungover.
Flung over covers.
Tension is smothered.
Swung at it until my soul hovers
and I can feel the stains
ingrained as much into this fabric
as the decadence and havoc
that would become this tragic memory. 

This of we.
Enough for two
but there's none for me

and no more of you. 

I can't stand this truth... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Number 9"

"Number 9"

Level of lunacy
true to me.
Who is he
and why is he
so close to the edge?
That's just the shadow.
I'm years over the cliff
and through the narrows
still picking at bone marrow
scratching through the scraps
that I've scraped
while entertained by your
concept of a narrow escape.
Mind in a harrowing state.
The tip of the arrow through nape
that sealed your neck with your cape
before your spine dented the pavement.
Villainous pill
barely thrilled with theatrics
treating the actress
like the stunt double.
Anarchist antagonist
forcing the lead role
to cleave holes trapped under rubble
just to perceive the damsel in trouble.
Close enough to cuddle
before the hack and slash
stashed beneath the sash
that will disclose the wounds.
Confinement without the cage.
Concentrated conscious rage
that incremental age cannot impede against.
Seen where sense is barely common.
Scene with scent that rarely I'm in.
Nowhere close within the light.
Dark the shroud in plain sight
stainless when the rain hits
the skin against the cloth.
Thought spared after the action
regardless of reaction
or what factions stand in resistance.
The meager and the masses
will watch in horror
as the scars form too wide to scab over.
Stabs over target points.
Grabbed and disbarred the joints
to stand over like a druid
witnessing you lose your fluid
and your will to breathe.
No deed performed for need
or reaction
or retort.
No plot or penchant for greed.
Lost on logic.
Lustful sport.
Fallen Angel with black wings.
Feathers dark and talon sharp
ripping clothes,
slicing toes
and uprooting the concrete rose.
Testament to lack of mercy certainly.
Certain he discovered
hovering over
simply slumping you over
like my subject for dissection.
Vanguard of dereliction
much more physical than political in vision
and you still can't perceive
although a view this scenic
displays the genius indecence
of the beast marked Phoenix
circling back
before you fall back
as your essence is ripped raw
while the rest hangs from the claws..... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Turbulence"

"Turbulence"

Greed for the speed.
This much I don't need.
Exceeds and impedes
what was meant in my pacing.
Mind
like my legs
like my heart
just racing
and I'm facing more than I've explored.
I cannot afford under duress
so the stress I call progression.
I promised to learn the lesson
and apply it well.
Well said.
Loop I can't thread
when my tires fail tread
and hydroplane into the next measure.
Eyes locked on treasure
can't appreciate the distance
or the time spent bridging the gap.
Mishap of the shaken.
Mileage much mistaken
and my cruise misconstrued
so I've lost some control.
Sold on the search for the soul years after
when I'm close to the crash
and my first is my last chance
to brake and drive slower.
Nightmares of the smolder.
Afterburner hotter than a furnace full of coal
and you wonder why I signal.

Burned into my mental
are events instrumental to acceleration.
Elevation once a foregone conclusion
now resembles confusion in clusters
and short spurts I've not mustered
any sufficient resistance to.
Those who know knew less
and those who knew knew nothing
of my turbulent times.
Tumultuous times
where the line blurs
and my sight once sharp and stern
is but a distortion aggravated in increments
too well placed to be perceived coincidental
but who do I blame?
Time is untamed
and famous for the push forward.
Somewhat infamous.
Some of it I trust
but most of it has forsaken me.
Can't catch up to what chases me.
Trapped in steam and vapor dreams.
View less pristine awakening.
Time loaned taken away from me.
I can't slow down
so pray for me....

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Vino"

"Vino"

Acting like you lost the invitation.
Attacking like you weren't in the equation
when you took shortcuts
just to skip a few levels.
Walking back defeated.
Disheveled
and even more envious of the bezel. 

Why couldn't you just take yours....

Better with mine.
I'm better defined
and rather profound.
More effective when found
after all that is lost.
Attempts have a cost
yet you've tossed them into dirt
like it wouldn't hurt.
Rain helps with the pain.
The less that you know
while I soften the blow.
Always had more to show.

Thankful for distraction.

Our interactions critical.
The sad part?
This is vintage.
Rough on the eyes.
The uncomfortable image.
Uneasy.
Queasy.
Unbearable sight when we fight
where I let you be right
when I still wasn't wrong.
This is taking too long
but this is life prolonged.

Better with signs
to assist with detection.
Better outlined.
I could use some direction.
Tried self protection
but I've hemorrhaged lately.
Veins drain from the chains
to the ankles on an angle
and we both had to dangle
when it was time to step up.
Thought myself a step up
but you can't hide demeanor.
Air much cleaner
when I choose to concede.
You get the chance to succeed
but is that all that you needed?

Better when I'm
not willing to challenge the words.
You ask me what you heard
as if I were to flinch.
Teeth clench
like the fist does.
A kiss does
absolutely nothing for me.
Can't pacify the fruit
and expect fermentation.
At least when routinely pulverized,
I had reason for this fixation
upon the process of potential.
Convinced that the process was essential.
No easy sell presumably
since you knew me
and thought that I
would rather die
than be alive and alone.

Grapes aren't grown in such shade.

Should I fade,
please watch me wither
if you won't dare
impart as giver
to lend a hand
and tend to vines.
Your pride our trap.
We are confined

and the raisin wasn't meant to reach the water.

Better with time
that I've used on the specifics.
Richer with time
much to the chagrin of the cynics.
The clinic designed
to manage, process and refine
but I am small batch.
No use for tall vats and latches.
Threaten with matches.
I will be the year lamented over.
Functional tears tell of a fear
that you have taken over.

You see,
under the heat I smolder
but with the cold I build.
Dash of vermouth
to up the proof
so please indulge when chilled.
Every bit worth the field
where vines have grown in measures.
The rarest wine made over time

and this life is looking better.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"F.M.L.: Detour"

"F.M.L.: Detour"


We took this path
when you took me back
and I took this fall
and I took your call
then we watched it all.
We heard the blast
and we felt the crash
but we could not stall.
The worst of it all
on display in the shade
of a veil forged in wells
more saline than the tears
that have run to the ears for refuge.
To choose is a struggle
that should never have been.
The love that of a friend
becoming a "remember when"
is much more than either of us bargained for.
The smoldering shelter
filled with burning letters
has taken the form of a deleted thread.
Patience depleted and optimism premium
over me not being the "him"
that you never wished to pull from.


Here it comes......


The haphazard,
feeble,
pointless,
sporadic,
pedantic,
frantic attempt to push away.
Far away
until the day you impart the stranger words:
"Hey Stranger."
Made your point as clear
as the haze in your perception.
Gave direction without the map
and memory never applied.
Lied to bide
because you need to hide
when you'd much rather confide
but there is harm in these arms
no matter how warm.
Thoughts will swarm across the surface.
I'm anxious.
You're nervous.
We're angry.
This ain't we.
This can't be.

 
































Neither can we.


Forks.
Maps.
Locations.


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Reactionary"

"Reactionary" 

Tall order for short measure.
You only notice when I talk reckless
and to talk reckless,
I need the checklist.
Checkered past
but a chest filled with pawns.
Floored on the board
and the chess is prolonged.
No vest on my chest
cutting through like the bishop
more ruthless than rook.
Castle with hooks
and never paid for the bars.
Real mean for my queen.
That's why the king has his scars. 

Still don't know who you are. 

More easily identifiable by far
than by most up close.
Recognition up to par
from the way that you boast
but what is noticed the most?
You only see me
when the back meets the ropes
and you're trapped
and you choke.
You would laugh unprovoked
as if I couldn't stay woke.
I don't sleep on subliminal.
The criminal caught
is the lesson taught
where few have listened. 

I guess tradition doesn't matter. 

I suppose I'm to be flattered
because you were just playing.
Right?
I romp and ridicule
and now you want to fight.
Right.
Took your night
and let today have a look.
Time frame for mind games
and still found time to cook.
You can't play by this book.
I wrote every chapter.
Wouldn't feed on knowledge
now you're starving after the fact..... 

........what remains intact is the fact
that you don't want me to release the evil.
You blink or sigh
or question why
and there will be upheaval.
Stabbed with the sharpest needles.
Wounds similar in dimension
that slowly drain what you've sustained
to invoke your ascension.
Lest I fail to mention,
I'm not one for boast or sport
so when I come for teeth and tongue,
consider it retort.
The spoils for such a chore.
Nothing less. Nothing more
and that's me being nice.
A meager price
just to settle the score
and before you gain sense,
I will have rinsed away the remnants.
Was offended that you'd try.
Thought at first to wonder why
when you know how hot the flame burns
in an instant for onlookers in the distance.
The one thing worse than a death sentence
is your existence
during my relentless persistence.

You can't prevent this. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz