"Big Wet Lips"

"Big Wet Lips"

Fixed mine to ask a favor
then another.
Maybe later
we could savor
secretive requests
somewhat direct in labor
yet too explicit to suggest
before a time like this.

A kiss this sweet

 would never grace the cheek.

Pursed,
they leak
again
and stain the sheets.
I can hear
and feel them speak.

They make no use of words.

Consider all of this absurd
but you don't know what I've heard.

Quickened pace.

Frantic
as if giving chase.
Manic
as if hard to break.
Want it like I'm panicked;
reaching through the gate.
Through that cell
of dripping lace
concealed like jail.
Behind your manicured nails,
I watch that inmate swell.

Slick like gel in gloss and glory.
Garments fell to tell the story.
Listened well and licked my own.

Place nor House.

I call it Home.

Opened wide for my attention.
Offered charm to incite retention.
Rosy colors.
Tension spiked.
Conversed in verse. No sleep tonight.
Speech to slur in tiers
from clear
to milky.
Tone
like skin
so smooth and silky.
Filthy things they part to say.
Tiny curls
but that's okay.
Shared with me what you won't speak.
Long on time but worth the seek.
Good on sound
but losing speech.
Threatening to drown
as moisture peaks.

Coming down
like clouds this dark.
Warmth this telling.
Chill this stark.
Without warning, they impart
what you withheld from the start.

Quick to talk
and stain my face.
Shaking.
Trembling.
Rest in place.
Spat it out
ignoring pace
and now you ask about good taste.

Held this image in my mind.
Sideways, supine
or from behind,
I'll get in close
and hope to find
those lips that scream
when given time...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Today"

"Today"

Feels like I am falling
forever.
Never thought much of the squall
or even smoldering heat honestly.
No great feat
performed by nature itself
is as formidable as gravity.
Haven't we had our time already?
Do I really need to experience this
again?
Did I not send for some assurance?
Am I undeserving of assistance;
meant to be throttled
tortured
by the downward distance
between descent and destruction?
Blatant this obstruction:
the mishandling of my appeal.
My plea.
Protest against being held near
what is likely my greatest fear.

Surely the drop
is more ruesome than the landing
and standing clear
has yet to appear
even the least bit effective
at giving fear a reason to pass by.
Had I known,
I'd have thrown apprehension
into that loathsome pit
and watched from where I'd choose to sit
but it's always been about time
and I can't help feeling
as if I'm without mine
like I'm locked out from
the necessary notice of signs
and fixed to this paradigm
for as long as takes to reach the end.

Thoughts of this manner
barely even pass the time.
Conjuring patterns concise and clear
in the face of paralyzing fear
took less time to develop
than the walls that envelop
what I hope to climb out of
assuming that I will survive.
Presumably alive
and somewhat able;
capable of such a feat.
Remembering when my feet
felt this life beneath them.
Recalling how my hem
would drag against the earth.
For what it was worth then,
it was time I never thought twice
about spending wisely.
For what it is worth now,
I'd mix and mingle dirt and skin
if only to end this ceaseless spin.

Feels like I'm falling
again
and again
without end.
I can't move myself.
I just bend and flail.
I am frail;
sailing from wall to edge
hedged by nothing.
Wishing that something
new
would happen already
but to be honest,
I'm not ready
and don't know when
or if I will be.
I'm willing to end the plummet
for sure
but I haven't braced myself
for the crash.
I'll wonder then
maybe
why I didn't think
or even react fast enough
but for now I'm just stuck
and I don't even have it in me
to blame bad luck.
I've come to accept the fact
that rather than give it my all,
I've decided that I would fall
forever.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Heaven In Her"

"Heaven In Her"

For as long
as the lids
of these eyes
find reason to pry,
they will surely cry in the presence.
Essentially as intense
as the first time they looked past
birth
to a fashion of true desire
that I wouldn't understand
or seek for years later
because even in my infancy,
your intensity
was
and
is
the journey more treasured
than the destination.
Chilling the sensation
upon that first realization
that I've been aware of your existence
but have only recently met your eyes
so yes:
I will most certainly cry.
Labor in silence
and traverse through violence itself
for another glimpse.
I want to.
I want you to see
me
struggling not to blink
for the fear that I think
such a meager sacrifice
might push paradise
a lifetime or three further away from me.
No one else can see
why this matters to me
but I am willing to beseech
since understanding that speech
is a derivative of first sight
rather than the abrupt flight
of words premeditated.
Our encounter predating preparatory means
in any regard
yet
when I finally saw you to understand,
I felt you in my hand
held as tight as the light
gently washing clear my vision
of what these moist eyes
were purposed to witness openly.
Days stretched long and wide
between that first gaze
and hope for the next....
...surely thought the best
of rare occurrences would never
ever
compare to this experience
and ever since,
through joyful agony
it is you that I will seek
because open eyes
not parted lips
will recount the first time
that I felt God speak
to me.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Nights Left In Fall"

"Nights Left In Fall"

Lightest of taps
gliding across the surface.
Not tentative.
Never nervous.
A service to their gracious performer.
Charmer of moves with
incremental improvements....
rapture subdued with
slower,
paced,
more graceful movements
that the eye
nor the mind
would know what to do with
so the heart takes the lead.
Increase in speed
and this course of action
places passion before the rest.
Best description I've found
given to harmony in view
rather than just in essence.
Refreshing and new.
Familiar and true.
Demonstrative and mean.
Gentle and serene.
A scene that isnt seen
but experienced rather
for the eyes can't fully comprehend
all there is to take in.
Therein lies a definition:
My best interpretation
of what it feels like to be
overwhelmed.
One might elect to take the helm
as a means of surveying plainly
but the same who see more before
will surely be as captivated after
whether observing as near as the door
or as far up high as the rafters.
Rapture at ease
in front of the keys.
Ran with a lead
just to blow with the leaves.
Started ahead
just to land in that bed.
No words exchanged
but you heard what I said.
Sound a million hearts might follow.
Fodder for those feeling hollow
but these notes we hold so dear
harmonize when you are near.

Where are you...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Acupuncture"

"Acupuncture" 

Familiar sensation
I perceived would have become
foreign
after torn in to my skin.

Them:

Like needles from the floor
expanding in my pores
searching for the door
we should've crushed the key to.

We did our best
in pretense
to make sense of excess access.

Asked less from those
who would claim to know,
the show -
violently...exquisitely passionate
and grotesque -
is best performed in the light.
It saves face from the unassuming;
unaware of this
occasional exhuming
we put to task with. 

With 

the past

With

One asking the other.

I feel that lost time
pricking my spine
and chilling the skin.
Time never thin enough.
Awkward silence thick
enough
to press against the space between us:
as close as receiver
and as far as messages unread
until those needles insist.
No trace of what we miss
but curiosity hungers.

Memory always begins with numbers.
Easiest recollection of resentment.
Most conventional resignation of will.
Of power.
Sense of self
showered with stabs and stings.
Fleeting things
like months and milestones
thrown into the score
much like the metal love bore into us.

No closer to the core
but thrust against flesh and bone.
More prone when alone
or staring at the phone
finding home in each
internal wince
served to every
outward longing glimpse
of a time
equal parts perplexing and vexing.

The former for what was.
The latter is what it is.

What is
may be our biggest effort
toward denial
as if our wiles
and wearisome respective
displays of will
could ever keep away
what pokes and prods from deep inside.
Pride is pathetic
when used selectively in any case
and it certainly won't erase
silent screams
and daydreams...

...streams of thought
never shared
but dared to ponder
daily.
Often.
Off when preoccupied or sharing time
but our favorite crime to commit
and get away with
when it looks to fill in emotional vacancies.
Well drawn to that sense
of illicit vagrancy
with a sheet to peek over...

Weak shoulders
the bleak holders
of some sense of strength
fictionalized
to devise a way
to make this abrupt
sway in the other's direction
less dereliction
and more deliberate.
Funny to fancy one
more considerate
of a moving target in cross hairs
than one's emotional welfare

and right there is where the sharp is plunged deep.
Sleep a casualty of coarse,
calloused,
calcified collections
of former feelings and interactions
where passion still stands tall
in our perversions.
The assertion
that such intense attraction ever wavers
is our cherished lie

but to say goodbye
while justifiably warranted
is as frightening
as the pain felt in that first prick.

Nicks

The evidence of voluntary sticks
and seldom seen
but lazily concealed incisions
commissioned in bouts of secrecy
we accept as therapeutic
but we knew better of it.
Perhaps we thought lesser of it
than we allowed ourselves to believe.
Maybe the perceived harshness
was valued as catharsis.
Supposedly
the pain
came more from the underlying strain
of wanting to pierce and drain;
hoping to eventually tame
what should be removed instead

but if the dread be embraced
to the extent of extreme,
the bed strewn with threads
solid,
sharp
and pristine
that breaks away at our
contradictory convictions
will make our astriction
the closest we've come
to means we could never explain.

Love lost still holds value in pain.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"The Extent"

"The Extent" 

Ms. Giving,
I miss giving you
reasons to smile
all while
chasing previous misgivings
outside of our extending away;
especially to say
that keeping them at bay
is a price I'd surely pay
to keep that smile.
That grin.
That curve above your chin,
Ms. Giving
that rests firm
between turns
involving shots of gin
and those backshots
again
and
again.
How I've missed the way we'd sin,
Ms. Giving
but misgiving made the path
murky.
Dank.
Dreary.
Can you hear me,
Ms. Giving?
I pray that the attention
I desire from you
is finally steeped in reciprocity.
So much you are owed
from me.
Less to see
for so much to say
until "anyway"
abruptly ends the debate.
Ms. Giving,
even amid the swell of misgiving,
you would always shoot straight.
I
hope
that I'm not too late.
I'd hazard the inquiry
but I admittedly fear what those
implied misgivings
will offer in response to me.
I see,
Ms. Giving
and always have;
often without base realization
of course
unfortunately
which I'm sure
without doubt
has only served to feed your misgivings.
Ms. Giving:
Martyr as one might presume
that I now lay beside in gloom
doomed by my once
fixable shortcomings
less likely to exhume
in a loving
that was less routine,
far frequent
and passionately inconsistent.
Inconsolable as I am
in lieu of inconsiderate musing.
Ms. Giving gave it all
and the walls contracted
and expanded simultaneously:
The former from the pressure.
The latter from complacency.
Latent we,
Ms. Giving:
Ye,
the she
that ignored the line
for the long term
and
Me,
the he
that created cause for concern
but couldn't possibly be less involved.
There's nothing to absolve,
Ms. Giving.
No way to wash away
The years unclear
or the tears I now fear
in the face of the misgivings
attached therein
but should you let me back in,
Ms. Giving,
this promise procured
would be validated.
Assured.
Made pure
enough to rouse
those misgivings provoking
and gather each by the throat
to never be spoken
or pondered
again.
Ms. Giving,
wit's end will not close this story.
Not this chapter.
Not here, there
or after
because you,
Ms. Giving
are the surface and the rafters.
Tears of joy. Infectious laughter.
The hardest love. Such gentle care.
Summer warmth. Winter air.
All the heart could hope to share
that understanding could never conceive,
premonition wouldn't believe
and ambition alone could never achieve.
Ms. Giving
just giving
aside from the advising and admonition.
An extension of the unconventional.
Somewhat trivial.
Unconditional means
yet
in the face of misgivings
meant to glean some reason to demean
you still mean to love

me.

Me.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Padlocks"

"Padlocks" 

Never ask a question
you already know the answer to.
Ask for who?
Who's the friend?
You contend with denial
to see how much
can be tucked under the cloak
as if those secrets weren't provoked.
As if the concealed won't appeal
to the chance to have you
choke on your words.
Spoke what they heard
until it seems absurd
to be granted your measure
of air.
To spare no lie
is to die in the moment.
Atonement too high an expense.
Too intense of a compliment
is consequence to confidence
and the contrast implied
is that common sense
finds its way to you
eventually.

A lie soaked in sympathy.

Your Are Not Listening.

Never ask where it went
while it remains in your possession.
Therein lies the lesson:
Misdirection does less harm
to the misinformed
than those charmed by secrecy.

Decency has no place in this.

The lake
and
The abyss
given the location
are only distinguished by light,
lack of
and the time of day.
The hideaway where one resides
can never say
that where others confide and pray
is less deserving of a timed delay.
The demon that stalks the night
will still prey upon the day.
Havoc is haphazard
and hell ignores the schedule. 

Speaking in time;
not of the end times.
Not of the last days.
No certain pathways
hinged on relieving your soul
of the impending.
Inevitable.
Incredible that we who see
are not perceived as prophets
until the rose dies under rockets... 

I'm not woke
and
I'm no "Hotep"
and
if that offends you,
rise up.
Outgrow that.
I'm not blowback.
I won't grow that hedge
around you
just to say "I Told You."
I don't know you
and
you don't owe me
so before you show me
what sensitivity looks like
when dunked in retort,
proofread that report. 

Listening Now? 

Don't pretend to wonder how
when your otherwise betrays you.
Your eyes drift in caution;
feigning the casual glances.
Your movement serves you poorly
as if grace and precision
thought it best to abort the mission.
Trivial condition all too common
to the perpetually slalom among you;
dodging the straight and narrow
like a chamber and barrel
at point blank distance.
Resistance affirmed
in all your might
yet you squirm in the light.
Night retires

but

Darkness remains..... 

.... like weeds in the sunlight
from which they were sprung
to twist and choke
until lopped off,
pulled up
and flung.

Just like your tongue.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Time Between"

"Time Between" 

"Hey Stranger..."
Phrase I've heard
countless times before
but never from you.
Cliché as it is
centered around fabrication...
...the groundless inclination
to feign that you've missed me.
Risky the tactic.
Contemptuous as a habit
so frivolous and fake
for the sake of pretentious planning
as if your understanding would ever
allow you to convince me
that I was missed by you
so I am one of the few
to say

"What do you want?"

"Hey Big Head..."
An untimely phrase that always
seems to come about when you've
finally reached a good place.
Inserted in an unprecedented
fashion where it need not be applied
because this scenario isn't applicable.
It would seem that the
security you procured while
you were here has faded away.
Reluctant your return to which
you thought would still be intact.
But my intuitive senses
sense danger afoot.
Tingling in my nervous system
alerts me to your ulterior motives.
Dare I say but inclined to ask,

"New life, Who's this?"

and who misses interruption?
As time passed,
you rewind past
and conjure empty introduction
as if memory will forsake me.
From "We haven't talked lately"
to "I still love you, baby."
This confused loop is crazy.
I don't even want to know
how far back that flash was
that you still love to flaunt and show.
Time dead as the last cause
and yet you still find more to go
along with your corroded basis.
Deal of pain the rain acidic
washing over your basic ambition.
No transition.
All the way abrupt and forceful.
Lies well in the eyes
still seeking refuge in my torso.
Lips that draw the lines
lubricated by the morsels
collected in memory.
A play on affinity.
As lonesome as trends can be.
Still lost on your intent for me.

Sometimes.. The grass is
greener on the other side.
But you have to patrol the dating
pool and wet it to see if it'll grow.
By choosing to do such, you basically
stated that my soil was barren.
Quite the contrary.
Because, in fact, you
choose not to nurture it.
Peeking over the fence
to see the process
in which my progress
is taking place.
Fret not.
Death comes swiftly
in the night time.
.. or daytime ..
Depending on when you thought
is was a good idea to impede on
what once was ours to share.
"Love don't live here anymore!"
I believe, all things considered, you
figured the imprint you left on me
would put me in a coma like state.
Yet, what remained were sleepless
nights awaiting your untimely return.
Cringe worthy the second, minute, hour
you finally decided to waltz back in.
The archaic terms now in which
you speak are greatly outdated.

Snapshots softly faded in sunlight.
Some might hazard a glance
and become entranced
by the smiles
but enhanced are the wiles
while the truth hangs in the frame.
Where one struggles recalling names,
I remember every moment
I've no way to be absolved of.
Spent those years trying to solve love
like it was the problem
that we make it to be.
Didn't make it with me.
Only naked we see
that nothing makeshift can be
worth all the vagueness made glee
just to give you some excuses
for conversing brief and useless.
Don't brush away intent so ruthless
to act like you want to do this. 

Bye, Stranger.

 
















Written By: Twin Monks (Eric Gumas and Devin Joseph Metz)

"Strobe Lights"

"Strobe Lights" 

Fighting my menace like kids at the dentist but now all my sentences run on...

This feeling often unexplained
but fully expected.
Heard you speak of the neglected
like either of us
was ever
truly
good to ourselves.
Lost you in the haze.
In this maze.
Chased the daze
because clarity is hilarity.
You call it catharsis.
There aren't this many people
in one place
like ever.
Should we go?
Would I leave?
Never.
You appear sick of it,
I suppose.
Who knows
once we break skin and take in and begin between the murmur and the slur and the babble and the ramble and the run on... 

... come on.
We're too far up there
where we chose to fare
to care about
and rant about
and yell
and shout
the doubts I've come to see
as absolutely foreign to me
once a dose kicks in.
Colors look gross mixed in
the contents of the glass
but pass for acceptable
when passing through receptacles
we can view from a distance.
Milligrams between instance
and the next instant
finds us surrounded with the room spinning.
"The beginning of this again..."
you spit through frowns amid my grin
as if being here was a sin
and there's a penance for admission.

This was our tradition.
Conditions I can't see...
Felt like you should feel me.
Admittedly,
I fall in love
with you
all over again
every time our blood streams
from exposed veins.
Tainted bloodstreams.
I'd hear screams
if not for volume
and the space between.
I can only glean vibration and flash.
Swept up is trash.
Hapless is cash
I'd sooner spend on glass
that would be broken thereafter.
I swear I hear laughter
but am befuddled
by the tears in your eyes.
There's some passion in our rhythm
but yours is........violent.
Sporadic.
Less dance floor than addict.
So much made of the habits
one stands to be reminded of...

Not the glove
but closely fit
for the benefit of smiles
from the subconscious stairs I climb
in my submersion sublime;
gathered from down deep
to creep higher.
I've peeled fliers
and made time
and worn tires.
I don't own ties... 

..... living as plain as my clothing but plain is a scolding reminder that old things will wither and fade so I saved up for shades just to enhance my look like the way I appear matters. Not to them but to you because honest and true, I love looking at you but if caught in a stare, I'd notice you there... 

.....watching me fighting my menace like kids at the dentist as sentences ramble and run on as I dance through despair.....but you're hurting there........
...................asking yourself if I even care
at all. 

The colors.
A beautiful distraction
until they aren't. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Different Toilet"

"Different Toilet"

Freedom ain't free.
It won't pay the bills
so you have to pay ...
for the right to kneel.
Opinion ain't cheap.
That's some over time
so you might find
that you'll owe me over time.
Why talk when you run
not walk
on my dime?

Just make sure that production
matches that 40 time.

Out of my mind
but still in my head.
Forgot some bullshit
and wrote this instead.
Somehow we flunked
but there was no test.
Rest reserved for the sunken:
Don't wake up, Mr. West.

Lying like shit:
"Yeah, I did my best."
Somewhat selective
when getting things off my chest.
Maybe we don't really care
at all.
I embellish the climb
but I love to fall
and I love to bawl.
Big tears.
Drawing on the fears
of those far more legitimate.
Opinionated Ignorant
with no punches pulled
and a bunch of abrupt and full assumptions
flung with gumption
so you'll think I'm all about it.

You'd do well to doubt it

but don't bother.
It's clouded.
Just shrouded.
I'm bout it
but I'm not.
Pouted when I got the word.

Wanted to be heard
but let me hide my face first.
Trip if you take a sip
but I got my taste first.
I'll talk about the teen
that was treated like a convict
but only if I've seen
all the likes and the comments.
Don't like the plug
so I might just snub.
Click bait for culture.
Post and tweet subs.
Hash tag the cause
so you know it's pure.
Challenge ten friends
then walk for a cure.

Can't cut a check.
I endorse neglect.
Why stick out my neck
for some shock effect?
Am I not the best version
of aversion?
A deliberate diversion
from the assertion you think I've applied?
Have I lied
or just watered down the truth?
Does life really matter to me?
Am I stranger than the fruit?
Am I possibly the problem?
Am I living what I rue?
Is there shame in this reflection?
Am I contradiction?
Am I..........

 

 

 

 














.......... you?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"I Contact"

"I Contact" 

She was...........
.....is a memory
that does not fade between blinks.
An affirmation
rather than an apparition
that dreams can be touched.
In silence even,
I note the inflection in her voice
when she speaks out after me;
quickening my blood
whilst giving priority to my abrupt halt.
There is no folly.
No feint.
No fault to her embrace.
Still admittedly confused
and sufficiently embarrassed
to have a face slick with tears
most times when she appears.
She is my portion of truth
encased in a semi sweet
measure of chocolate
for the service of disproving
that notion of foreboding
that always accompanies uncertainty.
Most certainly,
happy thoughts are
sought after
and fought for
and taught for the purpose of aspiration
but my inclination
toward her
carries more familiarity than unknown intrigue.

She swings and spins and slides about
and her scent transforms
that tinge of doubt
into a swell of impatience.
I breathe in
and am left anxious
for the exhale is far longer
than I believe it should be.
To a degree,
what I see
is nowhere near as mouth moistening
as what I breathe in
when she gleefully twirls and spins
in front of me again.
Again........
.........again would take forever
and I still wouldn't forget her.
No forfeiture
of the rich and sweet
brush of unlikely winter bloom
that takes expanse in my lungs
after claiming the entire room.

Below
or behind
she would sometimes loom
before lending her fingers
to me
like meals were to be replaced
by her taste.
Trace of fruit first cut.
Freshly sliced
then iced to mellow.
As sweet as sticky...
glistening.
Robust.
Fragrant flavor a rush of lust
indicative of hunger pains.
All but plain coincidence.
Famished state sated progressively
like that of slow burning incense
on the mantle.
Dared to handle another portion.
Gorging.
Greedy.
Fed me like needy passersby.
I'm just glad I caught her eye. 

If description were capable enough,
I'd compare her in detail
to the best thought
one would hope to remember
and lament over if ever forgotten.
A fountain overflowing
past proximity
with energy rarely conceived
in base understanding.
From where I'm usually standing,
to be overwhelmed is natural;
questioning the actual
for the sake of disbelief.
Hard to imagine that which
once was chief in my consciousness
ever being a compliment
to the presence she now claims
alone.
Fit for a throne
but more endearing Indian style
atop my pile of veiled
yet astonished thoughts
seemingly escaping the realm of secrecy.
That vision clings to me
like I could touch
what eyes could see.
One should be so fortunate.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Particles"

"Particles" 

Console there
between legs and fingers.
Taught arms to reach
but hesitation lingers.
Eyes
from the skies
to her thighs.
No surprise.
Taunted by temptation
and the ominous inclination
to one's physical interpretation
of a slew of slick talk.
That shit talk
where shit walks faster
than he did to the car.
Would've been the bar
just to ease some tension
but the promise was performance
and the utmost attention.

Wording.
Retention.
Phrasing.
Commission.
Flirting.
Contention.
Planning.
Ascension.

Stayed up late
til their lust was slaked.
Used to masturbate.
Now they navigate.
Now they plan their dates.
Moon mingles with the lake.
Left out late
so they park in the park.
Still really late
so they sit in the dark. 

Cumbersome skirt.
No underwear on.
Basketball shorts.
No underwear on.
Simple small talk
with the radio on.
Unspoken thoughts
through a few love songs. 

Tracing the past
with her legs crossed tight.
Reviewed her intent
and it all felt right.
Recalling their last.
His drawstring gripped tight.
Attentive to her nervous banter
as he reclines through the night. 

Console there
but there is no impedance.
No true barrier
to lend some credence
to what would behoove
the stall in the first move
to create a window
and fog up windows
to dip his chin low
and feel when she blows. 

No hesitation.
Just what was due.
Some drops. A few.
Some residue.
Some morsels left
among so few.
Remaining stains
that time maintains.
Evidence they've gained
of the mess they've made.
A strand.
A string.
Such flimsy things
shared in solitude.
Some memory. 

Just molecules between them. 

Nothing else. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Arson"

"Arson"


Fire still rolling down south.
Smoke rising up from the east.
Ashes swept up in the west.

 
These are all symbols at best.
Lest we say
that we'll burn today
and agree that way,
don't assume this room.
Don't assume your matches
and the bricks it clashes against
will ever breach some line of defense
you've convinced yourself I've built up
for you.
Played the guilt up
for who?
Called a bluff
then you blew
but it didn't go out
for you.
Now you need someone to blame.
Searched your pocket for names
you've hoped would survive the flame.
A host for what you became:


Pretentious Pyro maniac
claiming that
the worst of your untamed flame
only burns as much as the blame
and perceived shame
you've saved for me.
Save for the
burnt ends of thee
you thought you fed to me
smothered in synthetic love
you've served to me
without the gloves
that vengeance provided.
Contact with your skin
and you can't hide it.
Scorched and scarred the surface
right where it collided.


Fire still rolling down south.


Words you spat out
you could've cooled
then swallowed.
Melted your heart down,
scooped it out
then hollowed.
Texts without periods or commas
but I know
that after burning grass dies,
fresh dirt won't follow.


Smoke rising up from the east.
 
Daydreams and goals at least.
Visions of travel and peace.
Sign from the skies
that your eyes can't hide from.
No more surprise
than where you draw denial from.
Visualization of the future between us.
What once was a glimmer
is a dark void and I can't see us.
You need the conflict,
dissention
and distrust
just for the attention
and there still won't be us.


Ashes swept up in the west.


Folk that you speak of in jest.
Places to be
that you won't go to.
People to see
and they don't know you
but they know of
and they know love
and they know what isn't.
Things they heard of
that you've said
but "didn't."
Your display of your pain
and my betrayal
that isn't.
No fingerprint on my affairs.
You want me to care
and you won't get it.


Distinguish between
the explosion and extinguished.
Use English when you aim
and keep the wick tame
or that anger will maim
all the same.
That's apparent.
Worth it to suggest
that you stir more and boil less
on being a controlling parent
than on being transparent.


Fought me for years
through toil and test.
Singe to my ears
and fire to my chest.
You've churned through to burn
what was left of the rest
just to claim what remains

 


























but those are symbols at best.


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Shadow"

"Shadow" 

Will you sit here with me
in the dark?
Next to me
surrounded by the
constant crash of what we are told
is too bold or cold or crass
to cast one's attention to.
Mingle with my fear
and my tears
and emotions that others
hold no retention to.
Be with me
in the middle of chaos.
Amid the disarray
that we pretend each day
is a little more organized
like the unruly is classified
and categorized
as if something we schedule
to set aside and manage.

Will you lay here with me,
damaged as I appear?
Hear the chip and crack?
Feel the bruises undermined?
The "Never mind?"
The "Don't come back?"
Can you find a reason to stay
even when I'd rather not say?
When I don't want to play?
When I don't want today
and won't look at tomorrow?
Will your failure to fill the void
turn you away?
Keep you at bay?
What would you say
if I told you
that I know you aren't the answer
so I've no desire to ask a question?
I'm in no need of suggestion
nor protection.
Remain with me
circled by projections
of the hesitant and the rushed.
The warmth of trust.
The cold emptiness of lust.
See the journey toward a phantom
conceptualization of fulfillment
filled with self applied lies
and the silence of voices
that are merely waiting to resurface
so they can feed on my cries.... 

........you can try
but I wouldn't blame your refusal.
A forehead kiss
the meager dismissal
I've grown all too aware of.
"It won't be alright."
"It won't be okay."
"It will not end today."
Things you'd do well to say
but we are taught
the proper niceties of comfort.
Endearment is a bruise
upon the flesh of fruit
we are taught to eat without questioning.
Our reckoning in season
reasoned between teeth, tongue and cheek
and we aren't given to speech
until we swallow that bite

but politeness will not rule
and we don't have to fight 

so will you join me tonight?
Here where night and day don't share.
Here where the absent and unaware
and those who couldn't care less
are replaced with we who are caressed
by discomfort and dismay
and the words we can't say
in any conceivable way
too loud among crowds
bound to see us as foul
and disgusting.
Thoughts hinged on mistrust
thrust in front of us
against walls we can't see
but feel certain are displayed.
Viscous liquids sloshed and played with
smattered across it all
for no one to see.
Confined and closed yet free.
Already all we need to be.
So even when light refuses me,
I wonder still:
here
where vision lacks,
in the black of it all, 

will you sit here with me
in the dark? 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Left, Too"

"Left, Too" 

I am not what you thought you'd see.
Searched in your selected light.
Hidden better than in darkness.
The hardships you've undermined.
Glimpses in passing time.
Squint and you still won't find
an ounce of me
that you'll manipulate
anymore.
Planned for me
but acted late.
Stockpiled decree to saturate
but did not suspect.
Did not expect
that I'd be one to elevate.
My ascension to the zenith
you'd demean with foreboding.
Distrustful means
that are the steam
I've gathered to roll over.
As it happens,
I should flatten you
who've fattened yourself well
from my nightmares.
From my hell.
Thought you'd know well
not to sow your spells
over the same wells
you would draw from in thirst.

Me first.

That was the fear,
right?
Conjure my tears,
right?
In confidence you'd spare nights
to make my competence a near sight
and a far fetched reality.

No parity.
Just limitation.
Deliberate debilitating prescribed
so that I would subscribe
subservient
but never subsumed.
Present in the room
but blocks away from the table.

I am unstable.

Not far behind
the shattered mind.
Not well in front
of thoughts as blunt
as the ones you fear I'd act upon.
We haven't gone the distance
yet
but don't fret.
You'll see me coming
and will try to get away
but there's the floor.
Crawl some more.
Hope and pray
that I delay.
Put my assured nature in sway.
Had me question what things to say
when my heart knew that to break away
meant I should act as I may;
Not how you wanted.
The tutor is now the taunted:
haunted
by that which you've flaunted
all for naught
and before it ends,
I'll have you sprawl
and crawl
again

just like I had to.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Right To

"Right To"

Not what I had in mind.
Not sure I know
what's in there
anyway.
Many a day spent wondering
how many stand to judge
when in my honesty,
I probably wouldn't dare to nudge.
Pushed more now these days internally
than I ever was in youth.
The only difference?
There's no peer pressure
to mask the truth
that veiled beneath indifference
are these chiseled cracks
widened by anxiety
loathing privately what I lack.
Complication
and the compensation I enlist
is no small feat.
No conceived tryst.
Bound my own wrists
to run the risk
of forgetting all I've learned
just to quell some of the burn
but some embers
can't be stamped out.
Misfortune states
to stand out
is to be exposed as nothing.
That's worth something.
I suppose if closed,
I won't have to
justify.
I don't have to
simplify
or toil in shame
and wonder why. 

This in mind,
none else could bear it.
This is mine.
Why should I share it?
Far behind
where thought and care sit,
I view the blind
that couldn't see fit
that
couldn't see shit
unless it served purpose
personally.
Purpose
for me
has long been a concept
that I've come to believe
has not so much as
eluded my grasp
but rather
one I was tasked with
the abandonment of.
Ironic how an act
so iconic
could in turn fulfill a purpose
by denying the very definition
entirely. 

This is not what I had in mind.
In mine,
this tingling in my spine
is more sense of urgency
than the solemn certainty
that I should steal away.
I'd feel my way through passion
and impart more of a reaction
than the predetermined flinch
but unless that happens
in a pinch,
I'll remain here
just plain here
on plains here.
Window panes where
on this plane
of thought where
I painstakingly wonder
if I'm even a little
entitled. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz