"Whiskey"

"Whiskey" 

Rich, syrupy sting
slick and smoky
as such things
take less time for me
than most to acquire a taste for.
Chased only by the wayward
beckon
for another.
An extra portion.
An additional instance
Another chance to explore.
More.
Repeating in frequency
the exhilarating experience
of tipping you over
just to draw you fresh
just to drain that glass
just to lick that corner.

That rim.

"That's him."

Faithful favorite patron
served during and after hours.
After ours deplete
and stools fail to support me
in the manner that sheets would...
Cheap, wooden tables
where one sulks and trade fables
in neglectful fabrication,
My regretful inclination
is that I don't regret enough
to turn away.
Smooth, silky nectar
here to singe regret away,
drown my fret
and keep the rest at bay....
Hint of you on bottom lip
to dictate my thoughts throughout the day.
Attention slipped.
The switch is flipped
and I can't wait to find my way.
Eyes tracing hips with every sip
for hours with nothing to say.
Mind taking trips.
That spigot dips
and we play in the disarray.

Every last drop. 

I'll do my best to earn that.
Heard that last call
and saw you
pretend to count cash.
Heavy eyes at half speed
only blew past glances to read
your true purpose.
Best service this side of my
dark,
dirty mind...
Finding time as fast
as you did that fresh glass
I've left filthy
for the fourth time
this week.
Rosy cheeks confirm
how firmly lowered eyes
have leveraged themselves
just to disrobe.
Just to tip over.
Neat and warm.
Never cold
When I tip you over.
When I draw you fresh.
When I drain that glass.
When I lick that corner. 

When I palm that ass,
forget that glass
and drink every single
smooth
stinging
silky drop. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Depth For The Shallow"

"Depth For The Shallow" 

Scene in time before
seen in mind
where chimes are ignored
and thoughts implored
long after exploration.
One's inclination
to the misfortune
of the sudden
sunken
sullen hesitation
is motivation aplenty
to move quickly in purpose.
Purported as
actions ill fated
when consequences are slated.
Sedated.
Tossed about and away
for today's version of
right now
and
right away
and
nothing more to say
with the space between shared air
filled and accounted for.
Counted more in regret
than I ever did in risk involved.
A puzzle not yet solved
left for the voluntary thinker.
Deliberate tinkerer
casting attention to beforehand,
therein, herein
and thereafter.
I familiarize and sympathize
only after feigning laughter
in an attempt to quell my shame.
My name a thinner shell
spoken to me in confliction
rather then when sipping
from the dripping well
designed to make our conceived hell
fit to endear before the tears.
Years alone by choice
whilst the fear in my voice
implies the true tenor of my nature.
We seek favor but run blind.
We chase calm while self maligned.
Our dilemma deftly defined
by what we kept
and left behind...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"A Sky's Distance"

"A Sky's Distance" 

Eyes
as wide as your
gasp
clasping the side
of the rail
with frail ambition.
Transition from
pace
to pulsation.
No sedation
beforehand.
Before hands
reached
beneath pillows that caught sighs,
mine found the fountain
that springs eternal
between thighs
where my eyes
if not closed
halfway, at least
would be rinsed during feast.
East of the
left leg
stands the headboard
creaking in rhythm.
West of the
right
hangs the mirror
collecting light
as if intended as
evidence
to disclose our most compromising display.
Delay no object
to one
nor two so deliberate.
Felt your warmth
at least an entire
lifetime
in my mind
before ever getting this close...
Convinced that vision is accurate
and your flavor immaculate
and your grip so tight
that we risk what might
become of this
playful fight....
.... losing sight temporarily....
.....inaudible....
..... barely articulate.
The benefit
to a degree
of the measure of me
you've drawn out two times prior.

Fire and thirst.

The best of
my wanting you
in the worst way.
The first day
of not waiting
until nightfall.
Might fall in love.
Night falls.
We shrug.
Light crawls
as hugs
and rubs
and tugs
highlight darker intention.
Levels
like dimensions
never before reached
yet
often thought of.
One of many nights
where I ignore slight
and it all feels real
because it all feels right
but it won't feel true
until I feel
you.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Shades"

"Shades" 

Depth from within
to the nape
from my chin
like a cape worn thin.
The sins perception manifested.
Curious the method
of those
that clamor to be clothed
by the light
that they still appear
naked
in plain sight.
Nothing shields me at night.
This darkness no shroud.
No cloud covering
in hopes of preserving my name.
Shun
and shame
are public practices after all.
As sure as the wind calls near
carrying with it their misplaced fear,
one overhears
that darkness falls over you
as if intent on the malicious
where dissidents
consent to the vicious
call of something so fictitious.

Light?
The extent of their riches.
I derive from the delicious
never ending well
where yells
only incite the emboldened.
Not beholden to
what I can see.
No slave to what lies
in front of me.

What manner be
these shapes
on either side of me?
You'd hide from me.
You'd cry to see
and cringe to touch.
A bit too much for parted lids.
Behind the back
this
creature slid
who never hid.
Displayed her throne.

She's never there
but she's always home.
She's never here
when lights are on.
She's never there.
The sun has shown
but she's right there.
You're not alone
and you feel tips
like fingers
your mind thought would be claws.
Your mind
haunted by flaws.
You'll find it daunting
to pause 

but you've yet to advance.... 

......because:
you've convinced
yourself
that you can't see.
Darkness does not fall.
It instead envelops.
She caresses
crack and crevasse.
Short of bracelet.
Length of necklace.
Loose as blankets.
Tight as arms around the waist
of one longing to taste
from the nape
then the chin
to the depth within 

where the concept of iniquity
is merely an antiquity.
A relic collecting dust
furnishing lies told in a rush
of when one's fancy for lust
was less matter of time
or matter of trust.
Taught that naught is unforseen
therefore figment,
farce
and dream.
Told that reaching between seems
without light is so unclean.
Told that darkness
where one weeps
goes away
when one gains sleep.
You say that shadows
are what light sweeps
but she still rests near
and I am the company she keeps.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"To Misplace"

"To Misplace"

Sorry for falling asleep
on the phone last night.
I've been weeks
without nights
and saw the perfect opportunity
to pretend your words
were news to me
when they aren't even new
to me.
I'm sure that came out wrong...
...I think aloud frequently
so I apologize for that.
I apologize for even having to
and have felt contrite for having you
for longer than anticipated.
I know that sounds so antiquated
much like what I'll say eventually
but from when you first befriended
me,
I thought it best to be
proactive when removing infinity
from that exquisite position on the table.
Forever
spoke in fables
is the most sought after
simplistic
form of unrealistic
and I get physically sick
from trying to mix it
with every day shit
so while I'm still somewhat able
and because my heart says so,
you should know
that
We let it run deep.....
.....you weren't my all....
.....but you were my only one.
I'm afraid to fall asleep.
The fear is in that fall
so I reach for my only one....
..........but like I said,
that's my head
and why I keep it covered
below clouds that like to hover
making my somber thoughts obvious
like the one where
I speak with loneliness
and she asks me
to remedy
singularity
but I always say
"There's only us."

It's hidden in the way
those words hang
and drip
from your lips
that cause me to stumble
much like tripping down stairs
while drunk...
...my heart sunk
I'm sinking deeper into
the way
those simple words cut.
Let's keep it real.
Blunt.
Stunted emotions
can only grow within
hearts when given proper care.
Not to be unfair
but do you really care?
I know you've heard that before
so before we make this a chore
we'll both regret...
...let's just take two steps...
back.
I'd never retract my feelings
but until infinity
seems a little never ending story
to me
Like childhood fairytales
with afters that are happily
invested in selling endings.
Sappy romance isn't my thing...
...I tell myself and pretend
not to notice your reaction
to the credits at the
end
of our allegory.
But you should know
before you go
that
I've fallen in deep...
....you weren't my all...
....but you were my chosen one.
I'm scared to turn off the lights.
My fear lies in the dark
so I look for my chosen one...
....so remember when I say,
you're welcome to stay
until the break of day
beyond twilight's last bit of grey
when our logic is exhausted
our hearts are no longer cautious
and I ask you
to remedy
singularity
just tell me
"There's only us."

We weren't shaped for this world.
Even if the feeling
that of resting
flat
flushed
against the side wall
that feels like the ceiling
when we wake up
isn't enough to take up
the recurrent discomfort
consistently imbued
that playfully jumps
from me
to you
and back again.
Back from when that
title
offered some sense of revival...
...some scent of survival...
...something once so vital
I now couldn't bare to say.
Told that I should pray
before I think
before I act
but I tire of the tact.
Looking for a pass
just to dance on glass
nervously.
Purposely,
I have extended my limits
and cannot reach beyond fatigue
so the good fight
is now the seed crushed
and slid across concrete
so before the raised feet
makes display of the incomplete,
just remember
at your peak
that
we
should've never run deep...
....you weren't my all
but you were my only one.
Let the past sleep.
Let it all fall.
This
was the only one....

We weren't made for promises.
But remember when
you promised
me prominence?
Now we stare into the distance
while our hearts
feign feelings quite the opposite.
Have we become
fake...
...counterfeit
crumpled like the sheets on the floor.
Will we both come back...
...stripped
searching for more.
Promising to ignore what
sits idle
feeding into our deprival...
...waiting for the sun's arrival...
...this goodbye will be our final.
Did I dream the idea of you?
Did lust obscure my view
before I choose
before I exit
let's spend it wisely.
Promising that the imagery
of this room will become memory
fondly.
Internally,
I have rescinded my invite
and will not exceed capacity
my struggle ends here
and the key cannot be retrieved
make no mistakes
before you take your leave
at our peak
that
we
will always run deep...
...you weren't my all
but you were my chosen one.
Let's go back to sleep.
Let's continue to dream.
This
will never be the only one.

 




















Written By: Kiana Fitzpatrick and Devin Joseph Metz

"'03 Junior Year"

"'03 Junior Year" 

Save room for the commas
and incomplete expressions
somewhat heavy for the conscious hand.
Given to the thoughts
I've kept secretive
like contraband
trapped within the heart.
Emotion is where it starts
but I need more productive ends.
Suggestions from friends abound
at least until I look around
and see what slips.
It's falling down
and
barely resembles charity
when
confusion and hilarity mesh.
Voices that calm and caress
are
cracked and calloused now
and
chipping away at the brow
first
I guess because it hurts to think.
Each blink a recurrent notification.
A stab of recollection.
Sharp jab in one direction.
Denounce in flat inflection.

Homemade torture plainly

and although I see it mainly,
I am ashamed to realize
that my closed eyes
do not facilitate the dodging.
Quiet center dislodging but
barely even a frown
to make public my defeat.
This process I repeat
a handful of times
before leaning
beside the door after sweeping.

Fed the belief
that leaping and weeping
share the tip of one blade
so I retreat to the shade
with
what little progress is made
of thought.
Stricken without passion displayed
so those ideas delayed
are now just wishes for
which I've fought less for
than against those that mock me.
Was not born to be punchline
but I'd rather hunch
and hide face
than to punch my way
into a place
where I'm convinced things matter.
Discerning which things matter
enough to counteract
before my surface cracks
under their
deliberate
chiseled
drilling completely.

Discreet disguised as
"uniquely different"
while their public personal blows
punch
and poke
and push me past my limit
but we live it well.
Presenting frail
and concealing inner strength
because I'm tired.
Concerned less with the act
than with the length
then I retire.

Saw that pretty girl
whose color twirls when she walks.
She's my desire
but if honest,
she's the furthest comet
so I squint to see her fire.

Went to grade school
with the jock
who pitches rocks
and asks professor favors
so that he can play later today
after inhaling vapors.
Thought that we were cool
and I his tutor
but I'm just the one he picks on
less.
Algebra has him stressed
and he needs answers for the test.

At my best I go unnoticed.
At my worst they're unaware.
The year is over soon
and I think I'll grow out my hair.

My jacket
and
my yearbook signed
plus a completed pair of notebooks
that have recorded
every good
and bad
and ugly
and awesome moment
between classes
and the clashes
over action
and words never said.
Words that I swore
would be read to her
before the year is out
but not a whisper
nor a shout
would push between written letters.
Just overheard that she will transfer
next semester.

I hope to do much better
next year.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"M.S.D."

"M.S.D."

Pressed in time
like I'm pressed for time
just to press against yours.
Impression fine
but I need what's real
so I press,
inclined
as if next in line
ready to claim my fill
and I am gluttonous.
Greedy.
Wants perceived needy
and every bit as much expressed.
Standing to confess
that the stress of it all
thought quelled quite exquisite
with a call
or a visit
has reached past limits
no fervent institution could impose.
Why the rose must wither
before you come hither
is of lasting curiosity.
Perhaps I wear hypocrisy
as that of shrouded confusion.
A contusion
that remains until incision
can bring about some division
between myself
and what aims to hinder.
Sender of parcels
discreet as morsels I've become.
Passion sprung forth
like a drum
bashed and thrashed
in violent sensuality.
Speaking casually...
...an art for the timid.
I it's former purveyor.
I now mingle with the danger
that another few might see.
Let them observe
so long as you hear me.
Love leaving its trace
among the places we'd fancy.
Drinking,
dancing,
fastenings ajar and loosened.
Have I proven my thought's worth?
Has facade become the hearth
on which apprehension might smolder?
Has one's search for hearts as lenders
kept me from what I've divined?

Yes I'm fine.
Don't let doubt hold you.
Prone to daydream
as I've shown you
but if dreams
could line the walls,
I'd be speechless after all

just left to think about you...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"A Requiem For Reciprocity"

"A Requiem For Reciprocity" 

Do you remember
your first time?
Saying it in your head
or thinking out loud..
Trying to say it out loud..
Like, "I'm In Looooo......"
Dammit..
But you just can't
bring yourself to say it..
Words stuck in your throat like fresh Popeyes biscuits..
Mouthing the words
isn't sufficient..
You need to let her know..
Because not letting
her know would be an
omission of said affection..

Quick to compare perfection
to her milky complexion
as if the former couldn't hope
to hold a light to her.
Wouldn't fight for her
before now
when the fight was just
to see how long
before imaginative thoughts
stemmed from perceived positions
on the couch
became more fluid with each shout
I've heard in silence.
Timeless this temperamental tirade
I've gained by loss in a trade
for the simplicity of affection....
Maybe our direction
in the pursuit of perfection
has stirred this tension between us....

Time passes in a timeless fashion.
Seconds, minutes, hours
feel like months and years.
Compilation of euphoric moments
condensed into brief instances.
Doing things seen as uncharacteristic
because, quite frankly, I loooooo...
... Just cause it's Tuesday.
Which I'd like to use as euphemism.
Showered with material
things which serve as a
masquerade for my true intent.
Shallow veneer, I'd admit.
But what is one to do
when the words formed in
my brain won't accurately
articulate themselves
phonetically.

Aesthetically,
feelings are benign.
Just ripples in time that aren't clear
until we stand still.
Life is always moving.
Is proving myself to you
really moving myself a few
meters closer?
Do your arms drape my shoulders
like they once did during embrace?
If I show but will not say,
will you still cover your face
in that pretentious cloak of indifference?
Isn't it the experience that remains?
Are the memories in chains
or can they claim a holiday?
If my actions are ignored,
what I say should be implored
even less.
Right?
I've thought to speak
but convey better in movement.
If one's voice trumps volition,
then we should look toward improvement...

I'll muster up the
courage one day.
But for now, I'll create a
circumference around my
heart and placing you on it's radius.
Position comfortably,
not a care in the world.
A bee line through your
complexities to unveil the real you.
Manufactured uncertainties would
dare you to think ill of my intent..
Unintentionally keeping
me two steps back..
But to no avail.
Ambition lackluster at best
because in the fringes of your
brain you know that I'm here for you.
Emotions spontaneously combust
amongst the battle between
what you see versus what you feel.
And me, in all my angst, will
someday unsheathe how I truly feel.
And you, in all your glory, will
know what it feels like to be in...

....and when then arrives,
I'd advise against
the inclination to shy away.
The least bit of refrain
would only serve
to break open
an already raw wound
with exposed nerves
worn much further
than the sleeve discloses.
What one might suppose is
that we've been forever.
"That's how old love acts."
"That's what years look like."
Even when we look right,
we've flown dangerously
close to the left.
Maybe at best,
this is what is made of we.
I guess it was meant to be....

Written By: Eric Gumas and Devin Joseph Metz
~ Twin Monks ~

"Across Lines"

"Across Lines" 

The plan
is to tear down this temple
for all that it is
despite what it resembles
until it floats about Atlantis.
Can't stand this symbolism
of the woefully miscalculated
statistics geared toward
a false sense of integration.
Enough smeared across the nation
to where some still think
that our fountains are as clean.
I mean
then I say
then I pray for understanding
but for the time,
I'm landing in the middle.
In the mist.
In the midst
where molotov meets riot gear
and fear mates with anger
conceiving danger
with a complexion that favors the hapless.
The had less
have less
patience for the percentage.
Can't hear another story.
Won't read another sentence
about those sentenced to death
before addressing the threat.
Before pleading for oneself.
Before ignoring the steps
and being slammed against gravel
never reaching the gavel.
There will be crying when
Leviathan awakes
standing strong in the wake
of tiki torches burning state to state
that elate in trepidation
only to cringe when their relation
to oppression is disclosed.
Chose to
blow
through
you
and all you stand for
if your stance means
to bring me to my knees.
Please.
I beg of you.
I've so much better to do
but time will stand still
for you
until I'm through
and I won't disjoint
just to make a point
nor will I disband
so that you're draped across my hands.
Not even.
The plan
is to make sure that even
will never again appear rigid.
Seething and Livid
when recalling every punch and kick,
every curse lined with spit
and every time you gave us shit
for our very existence....
......with bare hands
I will bring you down
brick by brick
until there is barely any room
for even hope to float.

I'm tired.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Wings That Won't Float"

"Wings That Won't Float" 

They fell like leaves
that have worn out their welcome
to an audience of confused wind.
The folding and bending....
.... some falls don't cease.
They decrease in ease
and there is no peace
and barely an ending.
If asking me,
the fall is what rules.
If asking you,
to fall is for fools. 

Faith never breached
so deep you could reach
no matter how deep
and pull out some pity.
Self imposed defeat
you've learned to repeat
and blame on your history;
never learning
that love is an answer
and life is a mystery.
Not the other way around.
So distracted in your search
on your perch
that they still plummet to the ground. 

What are your gifts worth anyway? 

On days like this,
a wish used to be sufficient.
Hope had more proclivity
but now,
you scoff at sympathy
as if you've landed already.
Your "balanced" calculations
a mere rationalization
of unsubstantiated selfish insecurities
hinged on likelihood
you likely would look to
adversely alter to your advantage. 

Please procure a bandage
or ten.

Yet again, 

amid the scratch
and the scrape,
the stitches,
the scotch tape
and all that effort
that once meant something to you,
you let them crash.
You find time for delay when asked
to recount some glimmer in your ink well
so they fell.
Favoring your back to display it
but what abruptly meets the pavement?
Stayed with your stave
as a slave to your disdain
as if to wear this pain
in layers that hide no smile....
....will they sit there awhile?
No summit for the somber storyteller? 

Can't weather a climate
quickly created for the wrong reasons.
Neither of the seasons
will grant such without forewarning.
Global warming didn't cast your cloud.
Conditions blatant.
Loud.
Exclaiming your existence
given a level of persistence
that will not pay off this lifetime.
Like mine,
yours were meant for flying
regardless of how high you're climbing
or how wide and vast the distance
but now this instant
when you leap,
you'll claim no current as your seat
and those you've passed
won't see you complete
that fall from your perch
to claim the street. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Crimson Lake"

"Crimson Lake" 

As sure as Shinobi swings his blade,
this circumstance to which you're enslaved
will cost the loss of those accosted
in your ill fated persistence. 

The swan is only red
after it has bled. 

Harsh weather
formed the feathers
in the bed the Maiden lays in.
Ways and weird angles
astray as limbs dangle
over puddles thicker than origin.
Predicament sworn to sin
committed in repetition.
Never cared to listen;
even through the chaste
as if deliberate actions are not anchors
that make it easy for your past
to finally reach out and tarnish.
That coat you claim as varnish
no more than a bright target
in the dark for one to see. 

You are nothing because of me. 

The swan is only red
when it is severed from its head. 

Lifelong fondness and familiarity
can barely now be called an acquaintance.
The simplistic similarity
is the charity you will be denied.
Thought you knew when to hide
and when to lunge your beak.
That silence from whence you speak
sprung the first leak from your veins
to impart chains of damnation.
You will enjoy no liberation
while wrung between knuckle and fist.
You may bob to dodge
but round the wrist
your neck will lap
until the snap. 

Fitting, perhaps. 

Thought you'd respond to the slaps
that came after forewarning.
Conflict your anointing
and consequence your bread from Heaven
you run the risk of choking on.
Your grace? Your wiles?
Replaced by trials.
Would smile and used to sing awhile
but now,
no words were said.
Ruby ripples instead
no more luminous than rust on coral.
Air once fresh and floral
closer crept now to the fowl stench
and how drenched were you before
the ocean floor was yours instead?
The last of comfort in your dread
spent in the dirt near river beds. 

Your life proclaimed what was said:

The swan is only red
after it is dead. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"The Imposing Climb"

"The Imposing Climb"

Voice suddenly ceased
behind my thickest layers.
The barrier. ...
Signal loss.
Dead tone.
No carrier for you to relay
what I've heard you say
more times than I care to replay.
We crumble.
Decay
with every unwarranted attempt
as if your interests at heart
were truly interests of the heart
after the start was faint and frail
where you would cuss between the yells
where I am burdened
to get a word in.
One meager sentence.
Your spite relentless
and I have run out of energy.
No curiosity to find
what new excuse you've had in mind.
I can finally stop
and breathe
behind this wall....

I thought we had a connection.
But you never cease to amaze me.
Maybe I read too deep into things.

No. I didn't.

You were supposed to
have my back but I retract
my previous statement.
Strategically placed slights
of the tongue audible to the heart.

Deafening.

I shall regain the time
that once was mine.
But it's quite trivial to go back
to make corrective actions now.
Serrated edged memories would
do more harm than good remembering.

I defer.

To cower back to my stopgap.
Momentary fix for what I truly want.
But that isn't plausible anymore.
So behind the wall I shall remain.

The membrane
that you believe breaks away
when you scratch and slam
through the curse and damnation
that you heave upon it
barely chips away
with what you do
and what you say.
Damage delays
and words decay
before they reach me.
Nothing more valuable
that you've sought to teach me
than the quality of silence
when violent means are stirring.
Insulting barbs you're hurling
cannot climb this height
and your flight is mismanaged.
Advantage was never the end
to some means of justification.
I'll firmly stand.
Life can reprimand.
I am supported in fortification.

So this is my deposition.
Because things seem to
be spiraling out of control.
Accumulation of
twisted promises
which bored into the trust.
Quite the misshapen misfortune.
Do I dare to wonder what
was to become of us?
To gaze upon those eyes
I once saw forever in
but that's not entirely true, is it?
What I saw was the reflection
of my hopes masquerading
as your beautiful face.
Intuitive over rationalization
in collaboration with the
physicality of what was tangible
prompted me to
fall to your guile.
What has now materialized
is the self reassurance to
sever all tempestuous feelings.
And the time has come to put
asunder what was intended.

 























Written By: ~ Twin Monks ~ (Eric Gumas Jr & Devin Joseph Metz)

"Overcast"

"Overcast"

You only recall me
when the wind howls
and the fowl disperse for shelter....
In the dreary I find your beauty.
Something to look forward to
when I can't even push forward
through this measure of torrents.
The anticipation torments me
as much as your absence
when I sense the warmth
replace those turbulent winds
with such stale calm by night's end
just before daybreak.

I only feel your presence
when the showers are
present in my town.
I look around at shallow crowds
and watch ponchos
and raised hoods
that resemble cowls
meant to dry their faces
all while I stand
to embrace you willingly.
I'd wonder if you were hearing me
long before thunder rolled through.
Surely you'd answer,
right?
Am I to hope that squalls endure
much longer than this night?
Why must my world's vision be
marred amid the wind
for me to clearly see you again?

You won't come to visit
if dark clouds will imbue
no blue and white streaks
to illuminate your path to me.
I imagine catastrophe
possibly impeding your advance to me
as if you aren't the
most familiar force of nature
that has ever drawn this close to me
so what semblance of
undisturbed condition of current
and darkened, dry pavement
gives you any conceivable limit
that would make sense of your
displacement from me?

If not for your delight
in wiping the mist
that would gently kiss my face,
you'd know nothing of this place.
Wouldn't recognize the streets
without the lights
through the downpour.
You would never smell the grass
encouraged by your steps
to eventually grow more
in the strength
that is your nurturing touch.
If nature were vocal,
the trees,
the air,
even the birds
that would usually take cover
would be sacrificial in hover
before you
to implore that you
understand that I need
more of you
than the forecast would render.
I'm tired of imagination.
I no longer pretend;
whispering to myself
"It's okay. I don't need her."
whilst cursing the sun itself
in all of it's radiance
for it's role in the slow burn
of what is left
of our brief encounters.

If not for the rain,
I'd eventually embrace the pain
and forget about the harm
of having to miss my storm
each time
all over
again.

Soak everything.
Anything.
Everyone.

Everything that would stand between us.

 













Come back to me.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Corners"

"Corners"

Salve on the gashes
but rubs become scratches.
These lashes. ...
They itch.
I fiddle and twitch
just to stop
but the switch
again flipped
and I'm peeling.

I'm kneeling.
Hard surface.
Punished as I trifle.
I'm kneeling in service.
Decrepit Disciple.
I'm kneeling in purpose
but just not in purpose.
I'm frightened.
I'm nervous.
It hurts
and you've heard this.

Nowhere I can go.
The door is wide open
but where will I go?
I'm morbid.
I'm moping.
The wounds are still open
so I can still crawl
but I don't move at all
though I long for the fountain.
Condition that I'm in
is at best malnourished.
Can't recall when I've flourished
without a few sips.
I've bent
and
I've dipped
and
I've cried from the pain

I've thought "Not again"

but that whip
and that chain.
Each strike so concise
still engraved in my brain
stained like walls
and the floor.
Each time a bit more
with raised head as you shove.
You're standing above
and I'm looking for love.
Through grimace I've traced
as I wince,
blink
and then look for some grace.
Wish for mercy misplaced
as you batter my face.

The "why" I am wondering
while balled up recovering...
...a question left hovering
that hurts more than whips
feels as cold as these chains.
Answers complex and plain
yet I cannot explain
why I can't reach these keys
barely high on the shelf.
I'm furthest from freedom
but I still try to reach them
until snatched by your hands
as you slam me beneath them.
Removed from myself.
Can't move by myself.
I look up amid danger
to see you in your anger
and still beg for some help
but I'm begging.......
.................. myself....

 



















Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Lack Thereof"

"Lack Thereof"

Lord knows
but I'm afraid to ask.
Recalling tasks I've vowed ...
that remain incomplete now.
Peeled from the mattress
reluctantly to my feet now.
My peace
but a piece I'm forced toward
to chase after
the waste
after
a taste
and long after procrastination.
Aggravation in my wiles
when my trials are self-manufactured.
Stints of joy and laughter
No more earned
than the bridges that burned
when I feigned concern.
I took my turn
and I'm still not finished?
Meant well but demolished.
Momentum diminished
and I can only hope to replenish
while praying that this is not my penance.

Lord knows
but he won't say.
Won't stay hinged to my wishes
when the business isn't handled.
Thought to channel it all
behind walls
Indian style
in consistent proclamation
that it may take a little while
longer.
The longer I've longed her
who says that I've wronged her
without ever exchanging words.
Hurtful things I've heard
about how men exist
as the stress that she insists
we've always given gleefully
to thee
but can't retort with
"That's not me"
for being told we're all the same.
Doubt you even know my name
but wherewithal
to tack on shame
has made diamond this plastic frame
and we can't even scratch the surface
anymore.

Lord knows
and I implore
that he gives me something.
Anything to look toward.
Inquiry just as hard
of an undertaking
as the wait itself.
Taught never to question
but if life has its lessons
and I'm still missing answers,
I can't pander to the dogma.
I know what faith is evidence of.
I trust the above
to preserve the lower than
but I'm older than the teachings
and the motive
less misleading
and more melancholy
is probably hardly worth the call
honestly
because it's increasingly hard
to distinguish between
the want for some direction
or the need for an excuse
that makes sense of this dereliction
from that which demands my patience.

I can't just say
"Another Day"
like the time is for purchase.
Things to say but I'm nervous.
Way too close to the furnace
than I might have perceived.
Lost on what I believe.
Loss I frequently grieve
when what I've achieved
does not align with my aspirations
or the boastful proclamation of such
but sadly,
I can't say
and I won't rush
what will come my way.

 















Apparently,
Lord knows too much.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Lesser Nights"

"Lesser Nights" 

One half block between
my body and the damage.
Stared at the wreckage
since the landing.
Where I'm standing,
hands are fanning
blowing harder
cups of water
that should be buckets.
Wouldn't touch it at gunpoint.
One point can't justify the next
if unrelated to the previous.
Needing this logic
like the neediness:
Violent to a fault with a purpose.
Blacked out as if I've purchased
less time to process.
Stake driven through the progress
so life is chill until the next thrill. 

Smoke and heat becomes sunset
but not yet.
Things to say
and words to do.
Phrases I'd perform on who
like delicate experiments.
Mellow in my madness.
Fellow following her black dress
laden with accessories
likened to well placed necessities.
Noticed me and then my grin.
Whiskers underneath my chin
yet you draw near,
confide within
and say that I'm your favorite sin.
Next speed on the blender.
Siphoned through the spinner.
I can't win this far away.
Sinner can't sin in delay
and now who is gone....

........alone now.
At the rave to misbehave
but I'm trapped inside this cave.
No numbers saved
or face for that matter
so I navigate the maze
hopeful for familiar chatter
to lead me away from lights.
Heaven bless me.
Epilepsy.
Bright and mean.
Neon green.
Meshing hues.
Orange and Blue.
Tables floating.
Walls that flow.
Nauseous tremors.
Vertigo.
Time to go but can't close tabs yet.
Should've noticed tablets
floating in between the cubes.
Neat or rocks?
They let me choose
my hair of the dog.
I'm not hungry. System clogged.
Room still spinning but they've logged
every sip it seems.
Slipped my hands into my jeans.
Zipper undone. Ripped a seam
and the cash is gone. 

Song I used to sing
while hoping for a video
but then it goes dead.
In my own head
I've defined those lines
as issues with confinement.
One I would ride with
to make fact of opinions
when one who assumes control
throws away those preferred roles
as if destiny is under contract
but at a premium with personal contact.
Clocked that
and just chose to bide time.
Here one finds the cold sweater
wearing his hot clothes.
It was not over
but I knocked over
this clock colder
than bedside water.
Lost that charm
and incurred harm.
Blaring alarm forcing me to embrace this day
when I just wished to run away.
Back.
Far back.
Back to whatever the opposite of this was.... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"The Village"

"The Village"

Place I've come to like
after just visiting once.
Would stroll past cars and bikes. ...
Never rode there once.
Drawn long across those ten minutes
bypassing big business,
Mom and Pops
and all the hipster hangouts
where regulars would stay out
until panhandling garnered success.
Saw a girl I went to school with.
Sometimes shorts.
Sometimes sundress
but always only on the way.
Had as many words to say
as when I had that crush on her
but that was way back when.
Opposite direction of the barber shop
where friends from my childhood would stop
and share their account of nothing
and everything at the same time
until the local artist gets exposed
for using a different beat
with the same rhyme.
Can't determine if
I made this walk
around the same time
in my stints of frequency
but I would frequently
try my best to stay late.
Knew I'd gone too far
if I crossed the intersection.
Convenient placement of the sign.
Blocks away,
not hard to find
if one would take the time
to simply look up.
Took up the senses
in my nostrils first.
Pungent potpourri of spices
set on enticing my thirst.
Hint of sugar slightly flavored
I'd breathe in layers passing merchants
No more for me this moment
than price tags attached to purses
purchased by those aiming to impress
but I digress.
Would sip to sort out life's grand scheme.
Would sip again and before the end,
the evening dream that once gleamed
would seem
to last as long as the steam
blown away before each taste.

Place I've come to love
before long
like an old song.
Nostalgic.
New affection I'd have found
before returning there.
Scent of her hair
played fair with the aroma.
Routine all her own:
Fruit tea,
Vanilla scone
and the subtle rush of color
washing over her face
as she drew her mug near.
Sight so familiar
I've only ever seen after we've kissed.

Reminisced while stirring slow.
Lonesome now where lights once glowed.
Memory I'm too strained to show.
Years since I've been inclined to go
by myself.

 













What does it really take...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Rum Before Reisling"

"Rum Before Riesling"

Everything is yours
I don't wanna think anymore
tired of the fight
fed up with the back and forth
close the door and lock me in
would it really be a sin
to make my heart your slave
would it really kill you to just let me in
can we just focus on
what we feel
embrace the moment for
what it is
and let time fall still
like raindrops on a window sill
quiet beats of a love
that seems too real
I don't wanna give up
so hurry with the liquid courage
brown liquor
red cup
filled with promises to make this last forever
never remembering
this moment is all we have
this moment is one we can't get back
hush - I don't wanna talk any more
everything is yours.

Anything I want
except for the daunting.
Your haunting.
Your tossing about.
Flaunt that freedom in front of me
and I will make you want for me
as playful as I am with your desperation
as the mirage in the desert.
Can't tell where one ends hurt
or even where the pain begins.
Grinning when you should grimace,
optimism said you'd win this.
You'd do well to mind your limits.
You've felt each sip.
You've soaked in spirits,
sulking winless sunken shine.
Sharp the itch upon my spine
when you say you've had your time
but still search as if you'll find.
You are bound:
high-strung with nerve
defined by what you may deserve
so how dare you contend with taunt
to give me anything I want?
Who are you?

Who am I?
Who are we?
In our drunken states
too much liquor
can cause blood to rush
and the undoing of zippers
goes down
just a little quicker
than when sober thoughts prevail
when taunting turns to chase tales
of past lives
marked by creamy thighs
that are thick enough to save lives
all the while, we tease the limits
back and forth
teetering on the lines
as I push back into it
fists grab hair by handfuls
just to guide the motions
we've drank enough to fill oceans
and the motions make what we see
a tad bit blurry
but hurry - I don't want to wait any more
what is mine, is yours.

The mind implores
what the heart ignores
but the portions poured
make that struggle unappealing.
A peeling...
appealing, the danger...
anger that strips away
revealing to lips that say
"Fuck It."
I can't duck it anymore.
Done with the chore of brooding.
I'm not proving
anything by not moving
closer to what you know I need.
Perceiving past stints
where your eyes squint in pleasure
felt deep between organs
in angles one could never measure...
Straight. Not mixed.
A little ice.
Let me pour.
I'm done ignoring the signs.
I've taken time
now mine is yours.

Written By: Kiana Donae & Devin Joseph Metz

"Bleached, Faded..."

"Bleached, Faded..."

Found the middle of our hottest days.
Forgot then remembered how to pray.
Cold sip sitting on the porch.
Meals would be arriving soon.
Said we'd be ready for the change.
Just waiting to see a purple moon.
Impatience rose and inhibition moved.
Nasty sex in the last room.
Air conditioned to chase the steam.
This must be exactly as it seems
or I at least would like to lay and dream
as long as I can.
Thoughts and plans.
Thought we'd planned our getaway
from less purposed days.
Figured out what words to say.
Practiced til blue in the face.
Recited then rewrite it
then recite it once or twice more.
Knees and palms on the floor.
Taking me amid shoes and jeans.
Twice that night before games.
Love and Lust
and all the same.
Insane how much I thought we knew.
Convinced that we truly grew.
Couldn't see the dark for the colors.
Concentrate on one.
Ignore the other.
The end smothered by hopes and wishes
and the wettest kisses
on lips so syrupy and viscous.
Fast forward from then for a reason.
Never really paid mind to the seasons
until my desperate case made for overtime.
Hoped it would work out over time
and it did
but
not how we expected.
Requiem for the neglected.
Accepted you as what I knew I wanted
while becoming what you don't deserve.
You get on my nerves.
How I wish the swerve
was much more deliberate.
Delivered it as "remember when"
between friends
still fawning over more than.
More than some years since
and a stolen glimpse
still invokes the reminisce
but the lights aren't as bright
and that moon is still white
and you still can't see
past yourself without me.
The biggest reason to forever doubt we. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Reservoir"

"Reservoir"

Lower than tone.
Your incessant screams on repeat
No higher than the seat
you were convinced is your throne.
Down deeper than bones
archeology can't dig up.
Promise that when I sit up,
you won't force me to get up
as I am not guaranteed
to be solid when I land.
The pilot has plans premeditated
but the free falling
can only hope to be sedated
before smacking the pavement. 

Low like the thoughts
that accompany depression.
Lasting impression.
If left to your discretion,
this session would be brief.
The conventional discomfort
that mixes well with grief
and a hint of disbelief
has shaped your view of me.
Don't latch on to everything you see. 

Down like knees over the glass
and the shrapnel
with hands tightly clasped
and pain ravaged eyes to the sky
begging for something whole
deserving less than half full.
Emotion the handful
that escapes when you squeeze.
Slow leak on snow peaks
dripping down into the valley. 

Lower than trash in the dark alley.
Had today's dinner in my savvy
state of manufactured grace
but a lid across the face
and a knee to the gut later
and I'm no more fit
than I was when I begged for favors.
Surviving in the distance
by staying that far away
from the surface.
My purpose set
to be ignored and stepped over. 

Who is lower than me? 

Maybe she is. 

Flung to the wall
or deep into the bed
head down
drowning sound
despite deliberate defiance
until somber silence.
A sullen science
one must be at their lowest
to voluntarily lust after. 

Who is lower than she? 

Maybe he is. 

Pressed to the hood
observed in a hood
objectified and hunted in the hood
perceived as commonplace for no good.
Headbutt against wood and metal.
Testified that he was known to mettle
with the bright lights,
sirens
and shiny medals
sworn to protect.
No word of the neglect
to duty in dubious derelict
until incited and blown over
by people forced to love living lower. 

How low can one be... 

Lower than the stool
one stood over
tipped over
kicked over
by the tips of toes that longed to float
pulled too far down not to choke
provoked and
tired and
hopeless.
No guess unless defined
by the much more deranged
as simply a disturbed mind
that lacked social interaction.
Brisk, surprised reaction
without sufficient dedication to memory. 

Who are we?
Depth can't recall.
We were taught from the crawl
to finish on our feet
but when forced to our seat,
we are closer to hands and knees
than we would be
had there been incentive
to remain standing
without the painful landing. 

Low like the dust.
Down like the gear
too worn from the rust
to trust with progression.
The blurred lines between
recession,
obsession,
depression
and regression.
With an ear to the ground,
do you even hear a sound
from me? 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz