"Platonic Preservation: Emotional Deprivation"

"Platonic Preservation: Emotional Deprivation"

She asked me how it looks.
Of course, I said it's gorgeous.
Thing is, I really meant it.
I didn't plan or scheme it.
I doubt she even noticed.
No need for her to know this.
I'm not trying to grow this;
But I can't help but show this.

Blushes and light gasps
concealed within slight laughs,
struggling to withhold my frown
when I have to turn her down,
such enthusiastic smiles
when I sit and stay awhile.
Quaint conversing while traversing.
I could ride with her for miles.

Ah well.
A man can wish.

Skirts lay about her legs
like wrappers around chocolate.
If I stared any longer,
one would swear that I lost it.
Eyes locked on her dress.
I should digress;
but carefully selected words die
when truth lingers within the eyes.

Am I a jerk
for glancing at a short skirt?
Is that so crude?
Am I that rude?
Maybe I'm the dude
that she perceives as prude.
I may be too modest;
but I'm worse when honest.

I just can't be;
But a man will lust.

How does one speak their mind
with no risk of regret?
This solution may seem simple;
but I haven't found it yet.
Spending so much of my time
trying hard to resist.
I've no lease to expression;
so I struggle to desist.

She's confused.
I'm maligned.
Awkward silence protrudes.
We're lost in time.
There isn't much sublime
about a mind filled with tension.
When infatuation leaves you floored,
it gets harder to invoke ascension.

Maybe she isn't paying attention.
Why do I want her to?

Why do I take delight
in sitting around late at night
only to say that I can't stay
and have to reluctantly walk away?
What manner of friend am I
if I can't maintain my disguise?
History has consistently proven why
cloaks are worn by the wise.

I can't compromise our friendship;
but it's not fair to my feelings.
Comfort and choices rarely share kinship;
so it might not be worth revealing.
Besides, I know why I'm concealing.
It does stem from noble stances.
Things are great; so why take chances?
There will be no awkward advances.

Still in all, some part of me
really hopes that she can see.
I'm not concerned with what will be.
I just wonder what would be.
If this were a different time
and things weren't strewn and misplaced,
maybe then I'd share with her
that which I cannot give chase.

That would be nice.
Maybe she thinks so.

So much for that.
A man can wonder, though.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Bodies"

"Bodies"


Left to think about
All the times that it went south
And the words we blurted out. 
All we did was scream and shout. 
All that would elude my mouth
Short of rum and lifeless kisses
Are feelings I can't shut out. 
We can no longer dismiss this. 
You say that you understand;
But you only want to rush me. 
You don't have to hold my hands;
But I do want you to touch me. 
Consider what it means
To venture far beyond your means
In search of what remains unseen:
Lands where true desire leans
Against these battered, fragile walls
Of a heart that surely lobbies
For much more than nightly calls;
But all that remains are bodies… 


Like a bee to its hive 
I've only seen divine eyes
That trapped my soul from within
to never win 
with you
What could you possibly see
when you are looking past me
You hug to catch mugs from the free
and bow down to me in discreet
to only call me your Queen
show me more that meets the eye
than just a few words to make me shy
blush in rush for you to just be
You
Deceitful grins to contrary to belief
are simple griefs to you being bound
confined and enslaved within this love
Trickling with despair i dont know what this is
To you, sweet words remain hobbies
but according to my knowledge
all that is left are bodies..........


I never wanted to be a bigot. 
I don't need five wives. 
I'm familiar with this divot. 
Thank God for nine lives. 
Feline facets have proven essential
When placed alongside my masculinity. 
I must be agile, quick and nimble. 
It seems like a futile trinity. 
You take your time in public;
But move ever so swift in secrecy. 
The closest I've come to your subject
Is when light dims on our indecency;
But I'm a man, right?
We don't complain about frequency
Or how much affection is lost
When you don't visit frequently. 
I just sit in the shade. 
I just lay here alone
Until you need somewhere to fade
And you want to jump my bones. 
No tears escape these eyes;
At least not in God's grace. 
His sunlight won't acknowledge the smile
That I've etched across my face. 
This has become our commonplace:
I have employed pretentious means
To shy away from feeling dirty
So you'll always think you're clean;
But our love is a disease
That was administered by me. 
I doubt that it will ever recede.
It will likely claim our bodies…………… 


Written By: Evelyn Storm and Devin Joseph Metz

"Her Blank Canvas: Perfection"

"Her Blank Canvas: Perfection" 

I stare at your canvas:

Smooth and fair,

Beautifully bare,

Yet somewhat aware of my intentions. 

Most of which I fail to mention;

Leaving you to question:

Do I truly favor your complexion 

Or am I feigning and pretentious?

Make no mistake. 

I will issue no amends

For what is seen with this lens. 

Blank is where beauty begins. 

The monocle is powerful,

The microscope offers hope;

And the hopeful use bifocals;

But you deserve my naked eye. 

It alleviates my stress

To watch you undress. 

It's the moments that I savor

that promote my steadfast labor;

Contrasting your edges

Like shears through construction paper,

Love dangling over ledges

to be admired by the neighbors,

Blotched with sweat and wine

But still so rhythmic in design. 

Happenstance is how we're defined;

So I always take my time. 

There's no need to rush. 

Just gently graze my brush. 

Unwavering whiskers dance and prance

With the rhythm of a lush. 

Random moves become consistent

As each stroke is more insistent. .

When it comes to spreading moisture,

Passionate wrists remain persistent. 

Contingent upon one's inclination

And the level of infatuation,

Resolve is lost and revelry is stationed;

Giving way to voracious saturation. 

I will not spare elaboration. 

I fawn because it's necessary. 

Such a wonderful work of art.

I'll keep you from each adversary. 

I sit here with stationery;

Writing to the love I've missed. 

Extensive letters travel by feather;

Asking you to reserve my kiss. 

If I recall, I couldn't resist:

Nights and mornings met with bliss

And the moaning would not desist

Until ink smeared across your papyrus. 

Wonderous colors line your walls

Whilst these fingers crease through halls

And not one reaction stalls. 

Love springs free like waterfalls. 

You lack the impurities

That this lost world longs to see.

One glance resolves my faculties

And spares them of my savagery. 

Angry hands tear apart

And I would never harm my art.

I wouldn't know where to start. 

You're autographed within my heart. 

You're so sexy.It's a shame. 

Too good for a picture frame. 

Just so loving.It's so lovely. 

Legs like pages wrap and hug me.

I'd embark on a pilgrimage

For one of your still images. 

Photos filled with awe and grandeur

Worth the ransom of a lineage. 

Some say that you appear dislodged;

Looking misshapen and archaic. 

They may see you as a hodgepodge;

But you've always been my Mosaic. 

It's hard for me to look past

How I love to stain your glass;

Wetting my whiskers for a feeling

Before I splash across your ceilings. 

Let the men and women know. 

We shamelessly merge within windows. 

With great detail, I aim to please. 

Great artists work on their knees. 

You frustrate me.You get on my nerves;

Trying to draw those heavenly curves. 

I can't find the matching stencils. 

I don't have a lot of pencils. 

I could use concrete and chalk;

But you're better than sidewalk. 

You're too gorgeous for the street. 

You won't be trampled under feet. 

All I have are these wide eyes;

The watercolors for your thighs. 

All I have are eager lips

Ready to trace across your hips. 

Smooth the edges with fingertips. 

Plot around and take a trip

Til that lifeless, empty canvas

Leaves very little to be managed,

But then…I stare once more. 

And decide to leave it alone

For lust can be repeatedly sketched;

But our love is etched in stone. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Shiny Dirt And Sweet Treats"

"Shiny Dirt And Sweet Treats"

Kick up some dust. 
Watch the particles disperse
Like nickels that are flushed
From a heavy coin purse
Of the generous mother
That raises sisters and brothers.
They share affection for confection;
Yet they fight among each other.

Soft, sticky sweets linger
On the little boy's fingers;
So they begin to lick the tips;
The same tips that trace lips
And dance around the hips
Of young girls that tease and strip.
They initially feel empowered;
But are bound to lose their grip.
The fruit they yield has gone sour;
So they are given wine to sip;
Ensuring that they will slip
As they are taken on a trip.

Soft fingertips
riddled with acrylics,
Chemicals and cosmetics
About as real as aesthetics.
About as fake as a peg leg
Until breached like a cracked egg;
Broken and brittle,
Feeble and fickle.
Less appealing when bruised.
Not very effective when used.
Laying ruin to their simplicity
Replacing it with a ruse.

Authenticity is not a liability.
It will not impede progress.
It does not alter the process.
It will not honor the claims
Of those who choose to digress
Out of fear of being tamed.
Those who deem the world lame
Forget that nothing remains the same.
Life will be their favorite game.
The fast lane is worth cruising;
But when little is left of fame,
Was the winning worth the losing?

If they're any good at choosing,
They can pick through my rhetorical,
Key in on that which is focal
And hopefully avoid the historical.
Repetition is not redefinition.
One can deliberately tear it apart;
But that will never make it art.
Every ending has a start.
Those hips don't move
The way that they used to.
Her peers fled with the years.
His fan base finally outgrew too.
She used to dance in the dark.
She shakes and shivers in sunlight.
The wine is still delicious;
But the liver is dead to rights.
The bottle is bare and dry;
So he begs on behalf of his family;
But no coin purse is observed.
Mom can't give him any candy.
No nickels meet his fingers.
No pennies rubbed together.
Only a few memories linger.
The rest is lost with forever.

I went for a walk this evening.
The wind raced past my face.
Lifeless fragments danced in rhythm
As if they were happily misplaced.
Something glimmered on the ground.
As i kicked away the dust,
I examined what I've found:
A new coin was starting to rust.
I gave it to a little kid.
He was trying to buy some candy.
He just placed it in his pocket.
He said it would come in handy.
Maybe a child can teach the world.
He is focused on transition.
His mission is driven by ambition.
This aspiration is his definition.

Making haste with your decisions
may lead to adverse conditions.
Patience grants you the permission
To separate growth from decomposition.
Life is full of fawn and lust.
Every trial will test your trust.
Take heed before you dash and thrust
Or you'll be lost among the dust.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Lustful Paradox: Til Death"

‎"Lustful Paradox: Til Death"

Cold corners. 
Closed quarters. 
Corridors. Wet floors.
Open pores.
Spinning heads.
Spread legs.
Moist eyes.
Burning thighs.
Goodbye. 

Secure the locks.
Ignore the clocks.
You twist your locks.
You lick the rocks.
I tossed the phone.
We're all alone.
Scotch over stones.
I feel at home.
You're acting out.
You're in the zone.
You dog me out.
Come get the bone.
You hum and moan.
I take the throne.
I lose control.
Your mind is blown.
Fragments of frustration
Have be violently displaced.
You scramble for a taste.
You need to wipe your face. 

It's time for work.
Head still hurts.
One too many.
You're too friendly.
Such a flirt.
Short black skirt.
Unbuttoned blouse.
Too hot to douse.
Too wet to drench.
I never flinch.
Don't hide the funk.
Increase the stench.
You live for this.
You're loving this.
I'm not much better.
I fulfill your wish. 

I say goodbye.
You're asking why.
Tears start to well.
You're about to cry.
Can't lend reprieve.
I have to leave.
I'm running late.
You negotiate.
I've heard enough.
You hang in tough.
You state your claim.
I call your bluff.
It's getting late.
Hands navigate.
You recall my touch.
You masturbate.
You want it back.
You need it now.
You'll have your way.
You don't care how. 

I'm guilty.
I'm filthy.
In my desk drawer
Is your room key.
I'm on my way.
I'm coming over.
I turn the key.
You're far from sober.
You invite me in.
You're stumbling.
You're paranoid.
I'm not mumbling.
You lash out.
I can't shout.
Bound and gagged.
I'm assed out.
Flesh wounds.
Wet womb.
Warm mouth.
Bled out.
You're living an illusion.
You're in complete delusion.
You give it to me good;
But you won't quell my profusion. 

Two blades to the throat.
You bask in the elation.
My blood leaves your face soaked.
You treat it like ejaculation.
Twisted celebration.
Such a disturbed mind.
The cops have searched for weeks.
You make sure they never find.
Love is only blind
When lust gets in the way.
I misplaced my wife's trust.
I kept your heart at bay.
I couldn't walk away.
I doubt you would have let me.
You loved when I would play.
Never thought about neglecting.
Never was so unsuspecting.
Never thought I'd have to fret.
Your desire was unrelenting.
All that's left now are regrets……

And cold sores……

And you still want more……

But you can't ignore……

You're haunted by the emotional chore

Of cold corners,
Closed quarters,
Corridors,
Wet floors,
Open pores,
Spinning heads,
Spread legs,
Moist eyes,
And burning thighs.

Goodbye.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Transcendence"

‎"Transcendence"

I am me. Not a "we."
I don't know about the team. 
I don't sit on the sidelines
Next to girls who shout and scream.
I don't play between the lines.
I just stay behind the scenes;
But you can keep the credit.
Never was part of the scene.
Never wanted to be seen.
Never begged to be noticed.
Never needed TV screens.
In due time, I'll be promoted.
By that time, you'll swear I gloated;
Take your time. Hug and hold it.
I'll declare that I've transcended.
You'll just think I merely floated.

I am me. Not a "we."
I don't know about the team.

I am me not a "we."
Uniform is starched and clean.
I came up on Goosebumps books
And those children's magazines.
We all grew up reading highlights;
But what demands your eyesight
Are the things that children do
When they decline the night light.
They have become profane.
You say they are insane;
But they never asked to drive.
You just sped up in their lane.
Peer pressure can change lives.
Nothing remains the same;
But the stronger minds will thrive.
What's left over is ashamed.

I am me. Not a "we."
I don't know about the team.

I am me. Not a "we."
Don't care for designer jeans.
Never wasted all my profits
By the age of seventeen.
No protection for my pockets.
Just projectors and white screens.
Not concerned with buying lockets.
Just beakers and triple beams.
Wasn't picked on by the team.
It was more like an adoption.
They took me under their wing
When I explained the triple option.
They always paid homage
To the nerd at the cool table;
But when I dropped some knowledge,
They still chose to pick up fables.

I am me. Not a "we."
I don't know about the team.

I am me. Not a "we."
When recited, it sounds mean;
But my love is unrequited.
Still can't justify your means.
The sugar coating is corroding.
I'm just trying to stay clean.
All the gloating leads to bloating.
Cleave your ego and stay lean.
All your needs you haven't met.
You think this is your best bet;
But you can't indulge in knowledge
Until the table has been set.
By the time you become modest,
Realization will lead to regret;
So to be completely honest,
You shouldn't thank me yet.

I am me. Not a "we."
I don't know about the team.

Worthy me. Woeful "we."
I am greater than the team.

He will be.
So will she.
Discard your "we."
Reclaim your "me."

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Vesper"

‎"Vesper"

Can't fight the fear.
Don't need today.
I've fought for years.
Take me away.
You led me here.
Lead me away;
Because one thousand of my tears
Still can't quell the fray.

It's just hell today
Followed by more tomorrow.
It was peaceful yesterday;
Twisted prelude for impending sorrow.
I wish there was some light to borrow;
Although I might not give it back.
This darkness is strategically stacked;
So I look high. The moon is black.

The warmth is gone.
This fire still burns,
But it scorches when I embrace it.
I suppose that lesson is learned;
So I lay here; freezing in pain.
I'm not concerned with the rain.
It doesn't wash me clean.
It just reveals my stains.

My mouth is always dry
Although I indulge in wet grains.
Can't say the same for my eyes;
But the raindrops mask my pain.
I probably look like a leper
To this weekly wandering lecturer.
He often comes my way.
I often shy away.

He never ends the day
Without granting me invitation.
I struggle to hide libation;
But he offers me salvation;
Saying he's watched me walk these streets
As I search for something to eat.
He offers pillows and bed sheets
And clothes that are crisp and neat.

He says that my bad luck
Is born of familiar traits:
When the mind depends on luck,
The heart may soon abandon faith.

He said that I still have a chance.
He vows that he is not deceiving.
He left me with a shining glance
At what I could be achieving.

He calls this place "His Father's House;"
Full of the faithful, steadfast and believing.
Since I no longer have a house,
I may visit his this evening.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"The Lonely Poet"

"The Lonely Poet"

I may not be as captivating;
But I promise to be fascinating.
Won't you open your ears?
Don't you care to hear
About things that pique my interest
And tickle my fancy?
Let them trickle slowly within you
Before they begin dancing
In a concise pattern of movement:
Rubbing against cranial walls
And cerebral hemispheres
To the center of what we hold dear.

Am I selfish for expecting
Or am I just here protecting
The quality of my craft
While addressing your neglecting?
I like to think I'm swell
And my verses are written well
And the words I juggle and jot
Rarely share the same old plot.
I am a proponent of diversity.
I tell stories of adversity,
Those in search of forever
And helpless souls bound to eternity.

Don't walk away.
I swear I'm not stalling.
I won't take all day.
I just want to share my calling.
Besides, what good is a public speaker
Who cannot find his forum?
Sometimes I feel like a preacher
Encased in the majestic decorum
Of sky high chandeliers
And beautifully stained glass.
God's house he holds dear;
But most people just drive past
Without even so much as a glance
At what the sermon is about;
But if given just one chance,
He can bring them out
Of their hulls of mediocrity.
He can make their lives colorful;
Bearing the blessing of breached monotony
And truly offer something wonderful.

But hey; that's fine.
You've checked your watch five times
And it's only been seven minutes.
I guess I've reached my limit.
Sorry for keeping you so long.
Although your silence was prolonged,
I hope I've at least broken through.
Maybe you'll share this with a few.
Maybe not.
Either way,
I'll leave you to your ways.
I'll share with you some other day..........

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"The Clarity Of Polarity"

“The Clarity Of Polarity”


They call you senseless
because you choose to sense less.
As soon as problems arise,
You elect to desensitize.
You could have more
Than what you think is in store;
But disdain seeps through your pores.
You’ve lost the hunger for more;
Yet you have the very nerve
To let your point of view curve
As you ridicule us openly
For chasing what we deserve.


You call us a bunch of fools
For not playing by your rules.
Please lose that bully mantra.
We’re no longer in grade school.
Catch back is for the birds.
No revenge needed for these nerds.
You probably can’t pronounce our words;
So just act like you never heard.
How dare you call us absurd?
How are our views unrealistic?
We understand how real life is.
We aren’t just schematics and statistics.


You can’t denounce our possibilities
Because we are inclined to probability.
You can’t deem us a nuisance
Because you can’t read our blueprints.
I’m not all that spectacular:
I have a bit of a vernacular,
A small circle of friends
And no real desire for trends.
I won’t lord over you
Or make you want to go off;
But since you want to be right,
Let me take the time to show off:


“Your criticism is like catechism:
You act like you’ve been instructed
To demolish what we’ve constructed
Like a voracious ensemble conducted
By the subliminal and timid:
So ignorant and insipid
Yet brimming with enough ambition
To try and purge our lipids;
But we will not dissolve.
You chose not to evolve.
No scathing will be exacted
Because you decided to be vapid.
Our views will not be understated,
Trounced upon or degraded
In the name of those
Who call us flashy or over rated.
Now is that nasty?
Does it taste like bile?
Is it bitter and vile?
Then just put down the vial,
Place yourself on a new excursion,
Search for a new destination,
Submerge yourself in subconscious immersion;
And engage in some meditation.”


I’ve no honest need or want
To figure out your motivation
When it comes to your loathing
For our love of dissertation.
To be brutally honest,
You really don’t know how to act.
Your convictions are groundless
And they lack substantial tact.
All are inclined to their decisions;
Whether they are loose or exact.
You can shape your own opinion;
But you cannot alter fact;


And the fact is plain to see
Behind that cloak of secrecy.
You may judge us openly;
But you hate yourself more than me.
You wish that you could listen.
You wish that it was different;
But you can’t accept what’s given
Neither can you dismiss it.
You will never find help
Because you don’t like yourself.
Instead of owning your flaws,
You hide them high on that shelf.


The need to be
Must not include we.
Solitary is he.
Singularity is she.
I can never be you.
You shouldn’t want to be me.
Remove those shades and see
What it’s like to be free.
Learn to celebrate individuality.
Refine your route of persistence.
Stop trying to keep your distance.
Just be grateful for your existence.


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"52 Pickup: Struggling To Shuffle"

"52 Pickup: Struggling To Shuffle"

From solitaire; trapped with spiders
to being freed from a cell
that was called a free cell
that was intended to bridge hearts;
but it was an engine of destruction
that just tore hearts apart;
but where did this start?
All have played their part;
but have disclosed no purpose yet.
There are bruises on your neck.
Who brought this three pack set?
Did you purchase this deck?

What a mess you've made:
You cut yourself with this blade.
You seem surprised to see it fade.
Did I just call a spade a spade?
I've never been a jack of all.
I just know when to back off.
You say I have no balls;
but you'd likely watch me jack off.
I understand it, though:
You sit there and play roles
and hope that everyone thinks
you have an ace in the hole;
but the world might wonder
about those fluctuating numbers.
An ace has no ruler.
You are bound to slip under.

So damn fresh on the scene.
Pressed permanent and clean;
cutting the deck to cut a check;
working hard to be a queen;
but is it really mean
when the one outlined as king
would rather go out on flings
than present you with a ring?
But hey; what do I know?
I can't recall or remember when.
I just greet this life again
and work hard from 2 to 10.
I'm years removed from the yard.
I look after my own cattle;
but I'm full of trump cards;
so I'd advise against a battle.

Love doesn't fade, barber.
It just hates being tapered.
Don't blame mother and father.
You determine your own behavior.
You've done yourself no favors:
You take part in distasteful labor,
insist that we become your neighbors
and foolishly wait to be savored.
You climb to crash through ceilings.
Those paper cuts are like glass shards.
You love to chase that feeling.
Keep sprucing up that house of cards.
Go on honey. Make it hard.
Cry about your self implied struggle.
Scarlet Harlot. Take your tumble.
Bleed butt naked in your puddle.

Build it high before it crumbles.
Speak no words. Don't even mumble;
or those walls will flail and fumble
as you flatly refuse to be humble.
Tell yourself that it's okay.
Feed the neighbors charm and wit.
Boast about three of a kind
then call your own bullshit.
Don't dare forget to go fish.
Old maids find water to wade in.
Play whichever card you wish.
You probably wish you stayed in.
Such an unstable full house
is suited for a royal flush.
Possessing a jack, hoping for an ace;
better stand or you might bust.

You love to claim victory;
but where does your win go
when you remain open like windows
and panic whenever the wind blows?
Who would dare to claim respect
when dashing their own intellect?
We feel no residual effects;
so what are you trying to project?
If you inspect your deck,
You'll come across two jokers.
One fool is multicolored.
The other is dulled over.
Which one are you today?
Take some time. Mull it over.
You say you don't wanna play;
but the games are never over.

Yeah I know: You "could care less."
Tell that to your fits of stress.
Pick up the cards before you go.
I'm not picking up your mess.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Sanctuary"

"Sanctuary"

I swear it's the hardest part:
All the signs of us growing apart
when a dusty old movie scene
was once something clear and pristine;

And as the dust is blown,
all of our good memories fade.
As the old oak is buffed,
I see that not much at all is saved.
This realization is emblazoned:

Scorched across the cranium,
melded to my medulla
are those scathing times and trials
where I became the slave
and she was the ruler.

Foolish her;
but the bigger fool is me;
pleading for hollow sympathy
with recesses full of iniquities
that have stolen the essence of me.

The best of me is trapped
between a smaller me
that still laps up wounds
and a larger me
that may relapse soon.
Why do I still swoon?!?!

Why do I sit and croon;
resembling the hounds
that howl at the moon
as if that which we had
will return again soon?
Am I the loon? Am I?

Do what you must.
Save me.
Tell me that I'm crazy,
my methods of coping are lazy
and how much it shouldn't faze me.
If that doesn't work, tase me.

Shock me into submission.
Render me numb to my subscription
of unsavory retention
that is less like passion
and more like perdition.

Demand my undivided attention.
Cave me;
forging a path to my new mission.
Pave me.
Send me on a brighter expedition.
I know you won't enslave me.
Give me love; not an exhibition.
Save me. ♥

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Roll Back(From The Future)"

"Roll Back(From The Future)"


My peers lend their ears
to the cold, hard concrete.
I'm too grand to be discreet;
So I lace up and plant my feet:


Young minds are wrapped
within the streets like sheets.
Souls scrape like soles against brillo.
They drag their dreams like pillows;
letting their heads mop the floor
but there is nothing clean
about a shot up liquor store
and a bloodied crime scene.
They robbed them once way back;
but on their way back,
they were ready to spray back.
They should've just stayed back....


.....Run the tape back.


Across the street from the crime,
a few feet from the scene
walked a gem dressed as a dime.
She started out as a teen:


Can't keep a low profile
when you're up an down the timeline.
She once started for awhile;
but always finished on the sideline.
Happiness was hard to find.
With her emotions much maligned,
she adopted a change of heart
and would let nothing change her mind.
It was difficult to look past
the murky musings of her past.
She grew tired of finishing last;
so she lived her life fast.
Every day was a mad dash.
She would flaunt and flash,
let men smack, squeeze and smash
and then lay there; counting cash.
A country girl with thick legs
as sweet and plump as watermelon:
The daughter of a deceased father
who can only cry from heaven....


....Choke those tears back.


Most of her money was taxed
to a man who never hustled.
He held verbal contracts
and his crew was his muscle.
They have the occasional tussle;
but she always called back
only to soon crawl back,
spread her legs and fall back.


His band of brothers
are the sons of weeping mothers
who gave up their freedom
so they could enslave each other.
He portrays the pusher.
They take place as the runners.
His shadowy figure looms
as they breach private rooms,
but he always wanted more;
"so dey broke down de door
and let da gunshots roar
on de Blood Clot dance floor....


....Pon De Replay."


So many lost lives
still try to run this relay
of fly-by-night fortune;
sacrificing themselves each day.


They try their best to hide away;
but their shame won't shy away.
They could work hard to find a way;
but they just waste their lives away.
Their choices have paved the way
that many may look to follow;
closing themselves within walls;
free falling until they are swallowed:
Devoured whole; but never spit back.
Street life intrigues every "him"
and it surely seduces every "her."
I wish that we could roll back....


....because I don't want to see the future.


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Black"

"Black"

You polish those cuticles
from behind your little cubicle
and still find time to message me.
You let no deaf ear rest on me.
You seem to save the best for me
whilst others chase you desperately.
You ask for me especially.
Maybe you've seen the depth in me.
Well, there's no concise recipe;
but you still ask what's my deal.
Come here. Sit next to me.
I'll show you it feels
to be in the presence
of what many men lack.
Release your cares and lay back.
Lose the limelight. Become black.

Not much is made of lunch;
but I'm too hungry not to munch.
We disappeared after the meeting.
Your nosy girlfriends might have a hunch;
but I'm not concerned about that.
I just need you to fall back....
....as a matter of fact,
put that arch in your back
as I fondle those lovely follicles.
Fingertips take trips through hair
as things shift from quaint to volatile
the moment eyes lock and stare.
Your exude vanity; yet remain so fair.
To be honest, I'm slightly taken aback:
Your beauty transcends compare;
but I want a view in black.

Your black door and fancy bell
leads you down the stairwell.
My lungs may start to swell
as I take in that familiar smell.
I follow you to your room
and you make room on your bed
as I just shake my head
between words that are said...
...it's pretty safe to say
that I'm completely blown away:
I just love the way
you look in black lingerie.
You rub in that shea butter
after bathing in black soap with pearls,
black lips blow black polish on black nails
as your fingers loop through black curls.
They say the devil wears Prada;
but Satan's mistress would confess
to being hot under the collar
at the sight of your black dress.

I guess I came prepared:
Tightly braided hair,
three piece black suit
and dark cufflinks. Two pair.
Black belt to match the shoes,
black vest to match the socks,
and a black tie with designs
that compliment my black watch.
Cool Water is my fragrance;
but tonight it's Polo Black.
The lights are dimmed slightly.
The club is far from packed;
so let's find a place to sit.
I'm more glimmer than grit.
I'm more than charm and wit.
I have no game to spit.
You claim to know what I want
as you twist and taunt.
I just step and grip
while you continue to flaunt.
I won't lie to you:
I can't help but draw near
and whisper in your ear
things you never thought you'd hear.
Words may take you on a ride;
but I'm bound for deeper strides
as we grind and glide
through this floor of black heels and ties.
There's no need for inebriation.
I'm wrapped within the sensation
that comes from the elation
you exude with each gyration.
Drunken and dizzy without libation,
we gracefully move without concentration
until this dimly lit dance floor
gives way to illumination....

Hearts race under the moonlight.
Minds too cluttered to think.
As long as it feels right,
All I care to do is sink
deep within this shining abyss;
eyes closing upon each kiss
as it would be quite a remiss
to ever think to desist.
This is what is made of we.
Open your eyes. Look at me.
I've often thought about this day.
Listen to what I have to say:

I never thought
I'd see the day
that such a marvel
would come my way.
I had to mention
the things you say
always grab my attention;
even when you're away.
I'm captivated.
I'm aggravated.
I can barely take it;
but I'll navigate it.
I'll carefully cover these plains;
meticulously moving through membranes,
feeling every fiber, grazing every grain;
placing lips near hips to be stained.
I love the way you shine.
Your body is my shrine.
If you let me cross that line,
I promise to take my time.
If you will take the chance,
I'll make it worth the wait.
I know it's dark inside;
but I can see straight...
...straight through your inhibitions...
...let my hands send the transmissions
that place your fears under submission
as they fade into remission.
I have to tell you.
No better time than now
to wrap you in this warmth.
I'll show you how.......

Close the blinds.
I'll walk behind.
No need to lead the blind
when I'm all you'll need to find.
Kill the lights.
Does it feel right?
Sharpen your senses
in the stillness of this night.
Close the door.
Feet off of the floor.
This bed is our ocean.
Let me guide you to shore.
This is serious.
I'm far from delirious.
I have all my faculties.
I want you in full capacity.
Close your eyes.
Sever all the ties
that are bound to uncertainty.
This is the certain we.
Just take in deep breaths
whilst I take slow steps
up and down this chasm
yearning for more than an orgasm.
Can you even fathom
something so stark
as a traveling mind and body
surveying you in the dark?

Take me to your fill.
Don't cut me any slack.
Take full control of your will.
Don't worry about covering tracks.

Embrace that which you hold dear;
but don't bother looking back.
This world will soon disappear.
All that remains will be black...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz