"Less Rest"

"Less Rest" 

The fact that you're in my life
is proof that contradiction exists
formed to fit firmly
as one of my favorite occurrences.

Purpose belongs to those
looking to make sense of it all.
I'd honestly much rather fall
for the sake of the splash.
I'm attracted to the crash.
The blast
ringing loud in my ears.
Thirsty for the tears
that accompany my fears.
For years,
they've become sort of an...
.... accommodation.
Seldom perceived misread elation
for one deprived of sleep.

The sensation of the memory alone
is always felt when I'm alone
when what was left of you is gone
and I'm just left here on my own.
Old texts still in my phone
I'm prone to peruse
and ponder
and use
to some fleeting extent of satisfaction.
A distraction really
and a fact that silly
is an act that gives me
perhaps
a slim chance at a nap
briefly at least
before I'm once again creased
between my lack of sleep
and the piece of me
that still misses you.

See,
the issue with that piece
I'm sure
is that with each crease,
thoughts so impure
spread out thin over any perceived cure
and I find myself succumbing
to such a sickness as sweet as this.
Bad for
but good to.
Want more
but need to pull away.
Lost days licking fingertips
for a trace of your taste.
Wasted hours in the shower
as if I could ever hope to replace
that cool chill
or warm embrace.
Forgot that minutes have limits
that can't replenish first impression
and my favorite contradiction
without discretion
will always teach me a lesson
but I'd much rather count these seconds

because I won't let you
let me sleep.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Smudges"

"Smudges" 

He just sat there.
Smiling
Mind processing
while the sage burned.
Recalled events
of moments since
as if a page turned.
He was never one to discern
over the concern
that would predictably ensue
from what he would assume
they both wanted to do.
Nothing new
to them.
It was cool
to him:
She would tug at his hem;
pulling at threads worn thin
and begin ripping;
tearing away
at his clothes
as if to liberate his skin
before taking him in.
Temperature ignored
as handful
after handful
mingle with the floor.
Open pores contract
and gasp
and his hands clasp her breasts
before she is pressed against glass
and words dissolve into letters.
Playful smirk as he cleans the mirror.

One recalls
but the other
knows better.

Woeful sigh as she cleans the mirror.
Fear dissolved her words into letters
from being forcefully pressed against glass.
Feeling unclean.
Dirty from his hands
that would angrily clasp her breasts.
With painful gasps,
her stomach would contract
before its contents mingled with the floor.
She can still hear his demand for more
as he stripped handful
after handful
while her pleas were ignored.
Before pushing his way in
with a startling grin,
he would leave marks
and scratches
and bruises on her skin
that her clothes -
now worn thin
could no longer contend with.
Would try to push away from him with
the fleeing strength of the frightful.
To him:
It was delightful.
To her:
It was a spiteful occurrence.
Nothing new.
Just something she'd come to rue
every time that she assumed
that she wouldn't be consumed
by a thought so violently exhumed
that she can't help but be concerned with.
The depression of such discernment
that he convinced her she earned
with every attempt she makes
to turn the page.
Events that make her wince
while she burns the sage;
trying hard to chase away the hurt
and his rage
but that process alone is trying
enough throughout the fits of crying
so she just sat there.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Haberdashery"

"Haberdashery"

"Play on the passion toward
a perceived possession
of a peace seldom prolonged."

That might come off
somewhat pompous
or even pretentious for that matter
but I promise
that description is rather potent
for a piece this contentious.
This piece my ensemble
I happen to be dressed in
that is contemptuous at best when worn.

Take this fabric for instance:

Torn in patches.
Collected in batches
of past skin ripped thin
from lashes driven deep
across the backs of kin
considered less than men
back then.
These gashes
were fashioned from the tragic
but not for the dramatic
habits of the judgmental.

These threads I wear are fundamental
so don't mistake this for a rental.

This pair of slacks:

Real matter of fact.
Tailored to fit exact
yet they attract peculiar stares
so much to the point
where pretending to be unaware in turn
requires more care and concern
than I'd want to discern between.

The slacks
perceived dusty and unclean
aren't as rugged and obscene
as the jeans worn in replacement.
Your distaste with
My refusal of displacement
is outrage wasted on classic design.
This hem and weft sewn
firm perfect lines and cuffs strewn
together from a time when we were known
to be grown,
worn
then thrown around;
lying there on the ground
after consistent and profuse
rips and tears from abuse
have us appear to no longer be of use.

This tie:
A noose.

A ruesome recollection
from a systematic selection
of fruit too strange
to be given a brand name

and you know the man came correct.
No half stepping.

I wear this suit whole
just to bare my soul
and that of the many
what were paid the very pennies
that grace these loafers.
No snake skin.
I break skin
when I break in these shoes
and these old soles
with these poked holes
were once worn whole to pay dues.

It was never much of a hassle
to procure these shackles.
They still cuff hands to this day
but those cuffs have linked us
to history itself;
dangling as if high up on a shelf
because our very health depended on this.
The time that I've spent in these seams
is a price I could never afford to neglect.
Every stitch was bound to a dream
that I can say I have worn with respect

so with nerve,
I describe -
- or serve, as you may:

A play on the passion toward
a perceived possession
of a peace seldom prolonged.

Fashion of the forsaken
worn be we who have never forgotten.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Never Better"

"Never Better"

I can't say that I miss you.
I mean,
I can
and have...
...tried...
to convince myself otherwise.
Searched for other eyes
to willfully lose myself in
to replace those restless nights
and days where afternoon crept in
to find me still in bed
getting those final texts in.
The hardest thing now
about days when I've slept in
is knowing that falling back on loneliness
is but one of many chances to reminisce...

...but...

I can't tell you that I miss you.
I'm saying...
...I do miss you staying over.
I miss playing with you
over
and over.
These shoulders much colder
without those thighs
draped across them.
Found some of your garments
and have yet to toss them.
Felt those biting,
burning urges
and can't say honestly
that I've fought them
with nearly the same energy
that I explicitly
implicitly
use to
pleasure myself
when I think about you...

...but you can't know about this...
...you can never know
how much I miss...

You can never learn
about the slow churn
that takes place
with every swipe
or scroll
that involves seeing your face.

You can't know about the chase.
The frantic pace that I employ
like that of a child
after a toy
left where someone else
might
mistake it for theirs.

You couldn't possibly be made aware
of how austere things have grown
and if I'm lucky,
you'll never have known
and wouldn't assume an inkling.

Yes,
far more fortunate and ideal
to leave you thinking
or not.
I'll say I couldn't remember
or that I simply forgot
and waste that wonder
all for naught
if not for more than the cheap wealth
of not having to confess to you
what I refuse to admit to myself.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Possession"

"Possession"

I'm
talking as if you'd listen.
Talking but you don't listen.
You're
acting as if you hear me.
Talking but you don't hear me.
We
pile it.
We file it.
Confounded.
Compound shit
then trade nanes
then stake claim.
We toss flame to ignition.
We fan flames in condition
as if each rendition
was sacrificed in tradition.
You steal away
then you hide it.
You challenge me:
You say "Find it"
but these tears burn
and I'm blinded.
You take turns.
You try shit.
You reassure and confide with
just to make sure I'm behind it
by a few steps
at the very least.
We do the most
but I've seen the least.
Can't see the light.
Can't catch a glimpse.
Cant sleep at night.
Can't get a grip.

Can't catch a break from the secrecy
you increase by depleting me.

Would look to see
but LOOK AT ME.

Haven't been the same
since donation.
You don't feel the same.
The sensation
threatens to suck me clean
and drain me dry.
That was once my high
but I now know why
and would rather reclaim my property
lost to your sense of propriety.
With eyes closed, I would try to see
what you would disclose

and what you'd hide from me

but now my wants are needs
and I want my needs
and don't want to need
you to water that seed.
The heart that bleeds
never makes the stain plain
or clear to glean
yet no number of tears
will ever rinse it clean

so save your speech on defiance.
Don't sell me on compliance.
The slew of tongues that you lie with
aren't drawn from love.
Can't pry it.
You tried it.
You force fed
but it won't fit.
You see red
but that's my wrists.
My blade.
My slits.
No word of warning.
No prior stint.
No last letter
or goodbye kiss.
I want mine
and I won't flinch
so scream and shout
while I bite and spit.
No nine tenths.
That's my shit.
You own much
but won't own up
enough to own this.

You don't want this.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"She Noticed"

"She Noticed"

Haven't taken mine away
and the concept of
"yet"
doesn't fit into this moment
between her glance
and the trance it has enlisted.
Encompassing and casual.
Firm enough to hold me here
but fragile enough
to last moments worth seconds
instead of forevers.

A look that one
worth their internal measure
would come to treasure
for more than the fly by night pleasure
that is undoubtedly defined
by every line eager eyes
would trace in surrender
to her willingness to render
everything other than her attention
to me
irrelevant.

I believe it evident
that there are jewels
as precious as the journey
and as rare as the time
that they are sought after
that would illicit laughter
as if they could ever claim comparison
to something as true
as her view.

Knew little of a sun
until her blinks cut through one.
Could barely conceive cold
without the entice of perception so bold.
Can't explain the concept of rain
before recounting how she'd peer
through the smear
and the stains.
I'd even wonder if stars at night
would blush once they've gained her sight
but for me

on this day
with no words between us to say,
those eyes hold me in sway
and I haven't taken mine away
so this is where I'll stay

amid it all
until right now
is no more than something that I recall.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"How It Feels"

"How It Feels"

Resistance is not the hardest part.
Insistence the lost art
coupled with persistence
is why time is so important
in this instance.

You offered me the oceans
but they were too vast.

You gave me the sweetest air
but it just blew past.

You said I wouldn't remember
as if I forget fast.

You hoped I'd lean on sensation
but that never lasts.

The comfort of water
is determined by its temperature.
Surely the only signature
between firey and frigid.
A factor so wirey and rigid
could never hope to exhibit
anything identical
to the warmth of our embrace
or the unnerving chill of our distance

So the oceans will dry
before this love becomes a lie.

Wind will dictate its own pace
whether we let hearts race
or stand completely still.
Nothing concealed beneath the frills
tossed about within the gust.
Whether labeled love
or lust,
we place our trust
ever so deep into that crease
where it will remain
until life's torrents cease

so this air might grow stale
before my heart has said its peace.

Memory in servitude is a lie.
It serves no master.
Misunderstood as myrmidon to many,
it serves no one well or poor.
Memory is a winding road paved
further than the means of master and slave.
The lines bisect,
interject,
blend and bifurcate
but much more is needed
for the heartstrings that we navigate
seamlessly
seemingly

and I'll toss every moment to the embers
before I surrender the will to remember
you.
US.

To try and recall that last touch...
as thin as the finest hairs
upon your skin...
the rush and strain
of warm blood streaming through our veins...
Every wet lap
and fresh stain...
Insane how we train the mind
to think that what we left behind
would ever stay put
as if the raised foot
has nothing to do with what is real.
Images, instances, interactions, inclinations
aplenty
but all felt in that moment
only.
No more of you
on me
and perhaps that's on me
but I want that
only

and I'd lose imagination
just to hold onto that sensation.

You've given me stars and comets.
Constellations in pockets.
Crystal clear serene streams.
Warmth that collects tears for steam.
Moments as rich as candy cream
and thoughts that bring envy to dreams.
All of this in your beseech
but none of this is worth my reach.

Give me less and get me more.
This is all that I implore.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Erect"

"Erect"

Fingertips that press ripples
with the power to rub and caress
or cripple with firm grip...
...little concern for
when my head eventually
swells or drips freely.
You just serenely take me
in your grasp,
clasp
then lubricate the shaft
as if it sounds to you
as good as it feels to me.
You can have your fun
and tease
but please:

Don't squeeze.

Be careful, baby.

This ego is sensitive.
My habits are elastic
but this masculinity...

...so fragile.

Be decisive
not divisive as your hands travel.
After all,
discarded drops
will only mix with gravel.
Potential in these seeds.
Hands cupped and closed in creed
then formed to fit my needs.

Friction at odds with speed.

Take your time, baby.

So much is too much
at once for me to process
and that stress
I'm too stubborn to communicate

until my ego is stroked.

Share saliva with the fibers
but don't let me choke you.
I've said enough to play it tough
but I won't dare provoke you.

Your stroke
like a flame stoked for warmth.
My feet float
and you take note
of things I've said you aren't
in hopes of downplaying your worth
so that your skills remain mine only.
You'd measure my girth
and ask me what it would take
to make me eventually spurt
and I would say "Time Only."
Vague with you in spells
because I know damn well
that showing the other hand
means that things won't end well

and I need this nut, baby.

Less ashamed to admit that
after guaging your interest in me.
A little lotion
and slower motion
for a head this swollen
than you offered in the beginning.
I've said the words
you love to hear
just to keep you grinning
and you graze my veins
and ignore the stains.
I guess we both are winning

right now, at least.

So me of me
to see you struggle
through the strain
as your muscles increase in pain
hoping that soon it would drain
and I would meet you halfway:
Letting go of this pressure
I've acquired for no reason
other than to serve my manly worth
and eventually come for you

for a change.

I love how good you make me feel
but I take that for granted.
I cause you stress
then make a mess
and leave you empty handed.
I deny your role in this
as if someone poked holes and ripped
to perceive that you control me.
I confuse passion and perspective
and that incurs neglect from me
but I deflect the opportunity
to acknowledge your means of unity
until I again feel vexed
and hope that this text
will not be left on read

because no one empties my head
like you.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Body Oil"

"Body Oil"

Your Scent.
Your Signature.

Similar to a familiar voice
choosing to speak to me.
Air moving about with care
as if your very essence
knew me
better than the mind ever could.
Never would mistake that smell.
Not one I've come to know so well
like a trail leading me back home.
Scent that has tone
when smeared across the body
that I'd privately
take the time to taste.
One inhale
and a faster pace
of heartbeats impart me
to chart the quickest way
back to your airspace.
In closed quarters,
I've enjoyed this scent
in places it wasn't meant for.
Spent more room on my palate
than your talent for placement
can permit you time for.
I'm more than a little obsessed
admittedly
and figured we
could make use of
what was left in that vial.

Can taste your scent for miles...
...Mouth Watering Signature

and I your replenisher.
Finisher of every morsel.
Parceled out to potential others.
Inconsequential lovers

but it stunk on them.

On you it hovers
like a feast after my famine
and this beast could not imagine
gorging until walls have dampened
if for the sake
you never happened
to walk in front of me.
Your scent comforts me
yet playfully tortures me.
Warmth I need
so I've sought for speed
and fought through beads of sweat
in hope that I'd net
just a hint of you.

Would love a fistful of hair
but just to know
you were once there...

Fancied the thought of us laying down
but just to know
that you were around...

Would love to see your face
but to breathe in
and recall the very taste
of a place where you once stood...

.....for a scent
a signature
to feel this good...

...would you wear that again
for me?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"He Drank His Own Tears"

"He Drank His Own Tears"

If he could climb,
he'd just play in the dirt.
No concern for the girl
in the pretty pink skirt.
Oblivious as his father's blood boils.
Mysterious this wet soil.
Wonder his greatest possession.
Force fed lessons about direction.
Hand slips from the jungle gym.
Hard smack and some broken skin.
Pain,
Confusion,
Fear in his eyes.
Chastised as he began to cry.
Ran to Mother's arms making room.
Grandmother kissed and rubbed the wounds.

If he could swim,
he'd stay up for air.
Tightened trunks
and tied back his hair.
Floatables.
Only one pair.
Advised by Mother to take care.
Skipped the line and forced a turn.
Forgot the goggles and his eyes burn.
Kept the towel.
Asked him what he'd learned.
Young but noting
Dad's lack of concern.
Concentration on the task at hand.
Flinching after every raised hand.
Old fashioned method to this plan.
Determined to raise the perfect man.

If he could drive,
he'd decide to walk instead.
Layers of anxiety
strewn about his head.
Father's threats breathing down his neck.
He's just trying not to end up dead.
Eyes swollen.
Turning red.
Can't remember all that was said.
He hit the brakes in a turning lane.
Red lights he would speed through.
He can't breathe.
Dad intercedes.
A myriad of mistakes to see through.
Time treated like an excuse requested.
No acknowledgement of patience neglected.
Their relationship a prism reflective
of the frustrated
and the dejected.

If he could cry,
he would do the same.
Flashbacks
when they'd call his name.
Furthest corner in a dark room.
Composed himself.
They'll be back soon.
Traded warm milk for sour mash.
Haunting repression of the past
where boys don't cry
and men still choose
to hold on to it
and ignore all cues:

Recusing himself from a reality
where excusing oneself is no travesty
and needing some help is formality.

Forced Masculinity Is True Tragedy.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"I Can't Wait On Deliverance"

"I Can't Wait On Deliverance"

This plane is not high enough.
From this window seat,
my eyes can actually
look down on the skies
and still see way too much
below me.
Placed yourself there
purposely
as if to service the assumption
that I think I'm better than you.
I don't
but you do.
I don't stalk
but you do
through whichever means
will end in gaining my attention
regardless of whether justified
because a lie never cared
to concern itself with
whether or not the truth
was still standing there.

This train is not compact enough.
Crammed as much baggage
as my spirit could manage
as my mind could muster
as my heart would heave and lumber
but even in tiresome slumber,
I am awakened by the stabbing sensation
of you fighting me
nearly to the station.
Would smear your self conceived pain
across entire nations
if it would leverage guilt upon me.
Contrite when you call me
but boisterous in disagreement.
Can't seem to agree with
the difference
when your opinion you've made fact
and mine you've deemed a lack thereof.

Less pace.
More acceleration.
I never want the past
to keep up with the rest of me.
The best of me
while born in that
is not
in fact
tethered to anything
you would claim responsibility for.
Liability as blind
as the hand over the eye
will still have to confront the very fear
that demands that tears are cried
for every confidently crafted lie
told when you make a want a need
so cry until your eyes bleed
while I gain as much speed
as I can find serve with
but my nerves with
this swerve
and that curb
that neither of us could ever pass
only ensures that there will be a crash.

Even this car isn't fast enough
I guess.

Quickened by the desperation
of a long sought after separation.
These pills don't last long enough.
I'm still chasing the high.
This liquor isn't strong enough.
I've drank myself dry.
This patience isn't long enough.
I still often wonder why
my heart needs this much time
to let go of what I never wanted
to be mine to begin with.
If ultimately left to contend with
the all encompassing transgression
that is our pointless plot
of countless interactions,
I'd burn off the apprehension
and forcefully snatch away my ascension
because it goes without mention
that this life is not big enough
for us both to coexist in it.

Don't be angry.
Don't be sorry.
Just be distant.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Distant Ties"

"Distant Ties"

Not looking for it close up.
Not missing it from far sight.
You hope that thoughts approach us.
I know that want. It's not right.

Years blown.
You would drive me crazy.
Said I was your baby.
I'm no longer your child.
Maybe
whatever is worth saving
of us might delay the
sting of when emotions ran wild.

Months gone.
Didn't need your saving.
I needed to save me
or I'd run low on time.
Staving
you off was a labor
that did me no favors.
You acknowledge no line.

Even so far away
I find it hard to say
what you hope I mean
so things seem better for you.
A taxing chore to
skirt around your emotions
while your intent was in motion
to have my ambition subdued.

You were crude and unrefined
with a broken filter.
Concealer amid the masses
until flinging trash served you.
Heard you.
They all did
and they all hid until
your fire and fury was quelled.

That just never served me well.

So you would bark and blow.
I would tell you no
then you'd threaten to go
and make it appear as though
I was so heartless of a son
that I'd kick you out.
A scream and shout
for whomever cared to listen.

"Girl, that's a shame."
"What happened to your children."

You hoped to justify me as your villain.

For what is worth revealing,
there is nothing appealing
about one who mongers rumors
for the humor of the inquisitive.
You plotted on division
long before you heard "I Do"
because you knew
right where your bed was made.
Would tell me
"Things were said"
when anger and convenience
sought to converge on some concept
you were sure was born of genius
means of malice and manipulation.

Bearing me for nine months
is not a charge for service rendered
that you can demand interest on.
Love is not a savings bond
that you can cash out for currency
concurrently
then purpose me
just to cover your debt.

I'm not finished yet.

Over time,
you've run over mine
so I'm over time
that just might run out.

Blame what you chose to hear;
not what was said.
You can close your ears
and even turn your head from the wall
but the ink is bare
because blood is there
and every tear you spare
will never wash it out.
The bile you'd spew
has poisoned you.
No fortune to
one wishing to ruin another.

This is not tradition.
Don't talk. Just listen.
It's not about your vision.
This is about my life.
You still have a place there
but you sought to displace care
so you'd risk falling from grace where
you could just blame it on my wife.

Just you or nothing
as if just you was something
to sustain what I deserved.
Be a man without the nerve
or the balls
or the spine
to leave behind a construct much maligned
you would dress as structure to the blind
that knew nothing beyond those blinds.
That house was no home
so I left it behind.
It was time to go

so no.

Not looking for it close up.
Not missing it from far sight.
That dream died,
was sold
and closed up.
A broken image of the battle
that I never wanted to fight.

Months gone
and I get the texts
or the phone calls.
You don't mean to vex.
You don't aim to disturb.
You don't want to work on my nerves.
You just love me
and miss me.
and think about me
every day. 

....................what do you want me to say?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Y'all Talk?"

"Y'all Talk?"

She is the secret
that I only share
with our lonesome air 
to impart temporary comfort.
The grand performance
that I'd never dare pair
with a theater fully seating
a completely attentive audience.

She is that audible sound
that I make
when something tastes
far better
than I thought it would.
Too good to keep the recipe
anywhere
other than one's memory, though.

If pleasure truly is guilty,
then our iniquities in sight
would draw me furthest from the light.
Nightly practice of positions
preferred wholly over sleep,
she is that corner of the room
where darkness tends to loom
and glow is too afraid to creep toward.
She easily makes it hard.

She is delight in difficulty.
The rash decision resulting
in unavoidable trials
with all the guile and testimony
that may never ring in ears.
The peculiar fit of enchantment
with that entranced state of fear
and I really don't mind her tears.

I'm here
and shouldn't be.
Right mind
and wouldn't be.
Like mine
no good for me.
Like mind
but good to me.
No one watching.
Timer done clocking.
Headboard still rocking.....
.....drawing more secrets to my mouth.
I drew those secrets with my mouth.
There might be days we scream and holler
but this secret won't leave my mouth
and I
really want to shout
but then,
what could I lie about?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Hiding In The Dark"

"Hiding In The Dark"

You.
You used to look so good
that I could make an easy effort
out of sizing up your shape
from clear across the room
in the dark.
We used to start
so close
that we shared the sighs between us.
Limited to no vision
in the peripheral sense
but it didn't matter
because all I cared
to see
was directly in front of me.

You still are
to some degree
but.................
with the growing darkness
between,
even your attempts at
transparency
have seen
and forseen
that your luster would wear thin
eventually
and resemble more facade
or fallacy
than what you might have hoped
would be revealed.

Perhaps you aren't without appeal.
Not completely
yet
but one would bet the vault
and all the contents therein
that your practiced intent
cannot contend
with a fault that knows no end.

You're beautiful.
Bright.
Buxom.
Shapely.
The standard bearing image
of what one would say is a lady

and I can't stand the sight of you.

The plight of you
now fuels my indifference.
So right of you
to enlist some distance
as if it restores the shards
of your self-assumed dignity.
A poor man's version
you thought to hide
behind a veil of pride
as frail as the lies
you tell
and live openly.

You took the time
and had the nerve
to open me
and pour in.
I was your next win
and
you were the one sin
that I would ever think to call
my favorite
and if engaged in honesty,
I'll likely savor it
years after we stop speaking.

Even now in this room:
Pitch black.
Darkness peaking.
Temptation peeking in.....
we used to grin
when our sins
would take the middle of the floor;
inviting us to explore.
Daring us to implore
that another score or so
wouldn't hurt if we let go
soon enough
and neither of us
are good enough at that
although time has lent us
the opportunity to improve.

I used to sit here
with you
and reminisce
surrounded by what little
we could see
and we would let our thoughts
be.
We
would find excuses
akin to scribes seeking out muses
for the decisions that would ensue
in our shared solitude.
A mood once imbued
with a heightened enchantment
we were so willfully entranced with
can only offer consternation now.
I used to wait for the day
when we'd find the words to say
that would allow this to continue.
Would take time off,
miss you,
befriend you
again
but then,
this dark room became apparent:

Apparently,
I haven’t seen
enough of you.
Enough from you.
Enough for you
to be worth the act.
No direction.
No plan intact.
Just you until black
took that away.
Once cursed the night
but hid from day.
The light wouldn't dare comfort me
with you here in my company
so here
in black
I'm one with me
but there will be no slumbering
until in the dark
you run from me
and are done with me
but if you choose to remain
for your portion of pain,
you can gather your own stains.

Just don't touch me.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz