"4.4 Of 30: French Tips"

"French Tips"

Dug into my skin like excavation.
The sensation eternal.
Felt months after interaction....
Reaction to something profound.
Potent.
Powerful.
Devoured the nectar.
Knelt before the edge
like serfs under scepter.
Approached the altar
and paid homage with bondage
frequently.
Indecency easy to come by.
I ran my
mouth
and it was filled with earnest.
The furnace meager in comparison
to the embers burnt into my subconscious.
Content never safe for
those far too afraid to
make the first taste
sloppier than the seconds.
Seconds in and skin crawls up
and the fist balled up
full of braids called up
from broad shoulders to the thighs.
Obscenities piercing the sky
in the rapture of it all.
Broke three or four during calls.
Well worth it if you recall....

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.3 Of 30: Thighs And Glory"

"Thighs And Glory"

Stay there.

I want to savor the moment. ...
Piqued my interest
and you've grown it.
Can't say I'm sad
that you've shown it.

Turn away.

Heels for heights
I'd scale where
you pose, I snap
for my welfare.
Others look alright
but you're well fair.
Under dim lights
like you don't care
and we steal away
and I won't share
and you know the closest
can't compare.
You make me notice
and its not fair

but I can't look away
and if left to my thoughts,
this today
would be more than you thought
I would try.
More than scent that I caught
passing by.

I won't lie.
No time for stories.
Minutes spent
on what you'd like to show me.
Even with the tint
your skin is glowing
so why would I repent
if I want the glory?

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.2 Of 30: Ransom And Royalty"

"Ransom And Royalty"

I'm no throne to you.
If you find the phone,
then you can call home....
The view is never far gone
from what it used to be.
That's reality in curves.
Singularity unnerved.
Watch you step
and
catch the swerve
like a center fielder.

Manipulative feeler
of feelers
and thinkers
and drinkers...
....all the troubled minds.
Heads not high enough
above water.
Washed and left behind.
Tall order for the pretentious.
No longer contentious.
More like contemptuous.
Loathsome in reflection.

Your detection of somber thoughts
far easier than initially perceived.
Hard to conceive a life
without the other.
Act like you need each other.
Starve one and feed the other.
Cut one and bleed the other.
Mirror to the face.
Old fashioned disgrace.
Masking your distaste
at my eventual exit of this place.

I'm no zone for you.
No pit of purgatory.
No realm for those allegories
you've twisted into fair farces.
I am not your carcass.
You will find no remains.
Not a scrap.
Not a stain.
No more picking at the brain
for what morsels should remain.

I am no throne to you.
You will claim no seat.

I am no zone to you.
Forge your own retreat.

I'm not alone to you.

Not to you.

This we cannot repeat.

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.1 Of 30: Evening Showers"

"Evening Showers"

Super Fruit and Black Soap.
Elegance in silk ropes
hung high like rafters....
Comfort in the laughter.
Quaint conversation.
Displacement.
This taste with
the best of occurrences.
Permanent Levity.

Haven't we
clinked wine glasses
in our past life?
Fond memories.
I now wonder if we've passed twice.
Thrice if we're lucky.
Forever if we're fortunate.
Envisioned you in dreams.
Shouldn't take much to focus it.

Let the rest stream over me.
No still water.
Silence surely kills
so we indulge in the thrill harder
than when we first
felt the thirst of the distance.
Lost time we should've
dedicated to existence.

Persistence the greatest gift earned.
Under our discretion
there are lessons we have learned.
We no longer fear the miles
and the road becomes narrow.
Touch felt under skin
mingling with my bone marrow.

The arrow..

The first step toward redemption.
We've dealt with so much;
things far worse than the tension.
Wet skin I've recalled
Suds invoke my retention.
Every moment stalled
at behest of our ascension.

........Super Fruit and Black Soap.

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Pulse Four: Press"

"Pulse Four: Press" 

If diamonds are forever,
why can't coal be
the first date?
We see it all.
We treat it all
like it's first rate.
Like the birth date
although it lasts
barely ten months
now every memory
just hurts like a punt.
Squib kick controller.
Swore by slow roller
but it's third and nine.
Already fourteen behind.
Watched me drop back.
No more zone.
Jump the route
as it was thrown 

then we timed out. 

There's no doubt
that you acknowledged greatness.
Just never thought
the moments fought
would become my greatest recollection.
Detection was never an option.
Rejection left me dormant.
The lonely soul
out of control.
Letter received.
I've torn it to shreds.
There on the bed is
the stuffed animal's head.
I threw away the body.
Holes in clothes
I've peeled back
to reveal that to
those who ask "who shot me?" 

You got me.

I took a chance with the bandit.
Didn't go quite how we planned it
but I've gained from the gesture.
A lot of pain,
long months of strain
but I needed the pressure.
The lecture states
that to be great
there must be some impedance.
A crippling blow.
A "Please don't go!"
A little more. 

I need this. 

Thrown to the sky.
No soaring high.
That's just not what rocks do.
They break and crack
from falling back.
Couldn't do this without you.
I'm smart to doubt
that you'll take the credit.
It's not only yours.
Squared off with friction
long before this.
You're just a little more. 

Complimentary ex tradition.
An aggressive extradition.
Subscription to separation.
An inclination towards
making the process harder
than it was ever intended to be.
When we finally tumble,
crack and crumble,
one will search through the rubble
that we both may shine bright. 

The path felt wrong
but the process was enrichment.
Heaven sent with demonic trials.
Siphoned into vials
and now preserved and cherished
across hearts
that may know nothing of our start
but aren't willing to tear us apart. 

We shine better together when we aren't. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz 

_________________^___________

"Pulse Three: Align"

"Pulse Three: Align"

Truth ain't pretty
so we say it has potential,
add a little glitter ...
after etching with the stencil.
Black as ink at night
yet we still reach for the pencil
to desperately erase
disgrace like it rubs off
and here come the smudges
and here comes the judgement
that you swore you never saw coming.

You were "blind sided."

That's when I'm quiet....

....because if I speak my mind,
you'll just walk away.
When you move through life blind,
you'll be far away from it all.
No response to your calls.
No real place to unwind.
There's no quality time
to share with those you trust.

Trust....

.....Truth ain't pretty
so we say it needs a face-lift.
Higher hired expectations.
Gave reality a pink slip.
Outer space trips
from tummy tuck
to thigh gaps
and you glorify the dozens
who don't mind that.
Never mind that
you were so much more
long before
the masque hid perceived imperfections.
Long before the chore
of applying more to stave off detection.
Who is the score of one
too focused on self dereliction
to ever really care about
the impending direction?

Truth ain't pretty....
............wait.

Heard you say
that you pray
that I've had enough today
because I know
you're not okay
and want to help
you find a way
but I'm pushing
you away.
How I should
want you to stay
but logic
keeps you at bay

but this is life.

and it comes with a taste
that is constantly acquired.
Not one palate cleanser
or true temperature required.
Desired by who has less
and more by those who squander.
Mission meant less for critics
and the cynics left to wander.
Things I ponder in the present
carve out time in the interim
until present becomes past
and circumstance delivers them
like a slap across the face
that lands flat beyond the waist
onto the lap to close the case

and that imprint you can't erase.

For the sake of sanity
and to avert calamity,
I stagger out the fantasy
for a dose of the reality
that truth ain't pretty
and there is no way
to doll it up
but when things start getting gritty,
look at who knuckles down
and calls it up...
Going will get tough
and the weak should be exposed,
ripped from their designer clothes,
cast into the world in droves

until they listen when we say
that we know they hope and pray
but we will not cease today
Yes.
We know it's not okay.
Would love to help you find a way
but you push against the proof.
Branches break when you uproot.
The collapse of rotten fruit
upon your face.

Ain't that the truth?

What is ugly?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

____________^__________

"Pulse Two: Confine"

"Pulse Two: Confine"

I remember when I was
as gullible as children.
Impressed just as much.
Always ready to touch
and very little has changed since then.
Somewhere near intrigue.
That's where it begins.
Saw the shine.
You would blind with the sequins.
The fusion between confusion
and curiosity
only serves to disprove the mediocrity.

Where are the directions?
What's with this inflection?
I know I'm far from brilliant.
I don't need the new lessons.
The brave are fools that question
while looking for connections
without regard for if its hard
or some means of protection.

But this is life after all.

We have crawled
after evidence of walking.
We who hear everything
but have made no time for talking.
The chalk outlines our history
and I'm too pissed to be
the flame bearer
and the one waving the flag.
Who should pick up where I lag?
Is there one who stands appointed
or am I to sprawl disjointed
here before the hecklers?

You say they never matter
but you know better.

I'm not stupid
and you lack no intelligence.
Once the path was crossed
those days have grown distant ever since.
Never send the sheep to slaughter
especially when they are
compared to people.
If you look through the peephole,
you will see how ghastly
your conviction makes you look.
The musings of a crook
are charity to the misinformed.

Such is the norm.

Quick thoughts.
They swarm the conscience.
I no longer wonder why
the conscious minds are viewed as relics.

Even if you said it,
there's no shield against complacency.
The latency of independence
is true sorrow for thinkers
who become drinkers
to deal with the frustration.
Gone is the elation
coupled with deliberate originality

or decisiveness.
or divisiveness.
Just recycled shit
that men kill each other to cherish.

Here is where we perish.

God bless we who were
as gullible as children.
At least their curiosity
can still cut through mediocrity.

Your privacy intact
is just an act to entertain you.
The policy for washing brains
involves a strain
of hollow means to complain.

That's distraction.

While you complain,
somewhere ingrained
will be a plane
of truth contained.

Outlaw reaction.

For every faction we form
there will be reformed
a way to digress.
This is more than most will digest
but if you just sit at the table
you'll be fed much more than fables.

We watch the world spin around,
decide we're dizzy then lay down
and rise up with chains and string.
Life lived lost don't cost a thing.

 











Don't you think you've lost something?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

___________________^__________

"Pulse One: Unzip"

"Pulse One: Unzip"

Eyes that plan like
eyeing plans like
tieing hands.
Those
binding hands so
idle then wild like
exploring child who
found the paste and
marked the face.

I 

know the motion and
taste emotion.
It soothes like lotion.
This pungent potion,
it wreaks of fear.
those salty tears
that land in ears
I stack in tiers.
I have for years.

If

you could measure
your portion of pleasure,
your pearl on the pillow,
your coveted treasure, 

would you go through with it? 

Would you trust me with this blindfold?
Would you still believe if a lie is told?
How bold before you say "take it back?"
Do you still care if you make it back? 

Laying back.
Lying down.
On your knees.
On the ground.
Yeah I'm down
and if you frown
then pretend some laughter.
Leave the chatter.
We're here for now
but I'm leaving after.
No seeing after.
Just covered eyes.
Tug at the ties.
No knots to slip.
So vice the grip. 

So true the story. 

So vague my thoughts.
They lay before me.
One hand unbound
just for exploring.
You can't come down
so play before me.
Between the sounds
you reach out for me. 

You

get a firm grip
and would bite your lip
if not for handkerchief
lodged between teeth
where the moans would meet
with screams that expand lungs.
Tongue bounced between
cheek and dirty fabric.
Rapid fire rabid
like it was a habit.
Spoken tongues of glory.
Boundless sin before me.
Lips so raw and swollen.
Find some allegory.

Searched

for what it means.
Perched above like fiends.
You my latest dream
born of longest slumber.
Name among numbers.
You my favorite symbol.
Closer than the needle
but I hold the thimble.

How

you shake and tremble
bound and strapped in earnest.
Declined the ice water.
Feet placed near the furnace

and

pleasure you've furnished.
Can't stand so you learn this
through torture devised
 
to incur demise

at

each waking moment.
You hold no atonement.
Just the want for more  
sweat seeping from pores.

Wrists
bound to the door.
Stripped
down to the floor.
Gripped
you at your waist.
Lips
I bite to taste.

.......if you push me,
I won't say I'm sorry.
I can't pretend that time is thin
and wonder if you saw me.
You are the fang,
the fur
and the fin
but I promise safari.
Long since I've met such charming
firm figured flesh worth scarring.
Heart in the chest for sparring.
Heart worn on vest.

I'm starting

to wonder if
this is a gift
or my affliction.
I do this well
to soothe and quell.
This may be my addiction
but addiction
to affliction
isn't far from a prediction
and if so,
I'd let it show.
I will subscribe to no prescription. 

Listen.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz 

______________^________________

"Bounce"

"Bounce"

When I call your name,
anticipate me like the first time.
Lines you've done more than
just fill in the blanks with.
Hips that switch
and
lips that drip
and
muscles so strong
that long for exploration.
Fixed focus when descending stairs.
Your hair tangled in the keys
better mangled in my hands.
The ceiling fan monitors moisture
almost as well as I intend to.

When you hear my voice,
does it tend to linger?
Do you touch yourself?
Do you trace your fingers?
Do you arch your back
in this familiar posture
of forfeiture and submission?
Position where dominance starts at the tip
and guilt disappears at the hilt...

.....those petals never wilt.

Please excuse my wonder.
Focus on enchantment.
Say you "can't with"
and then dread the without.
I'm not here to feed your doubt, love.
Some gloves fit to display
the danger of never removing them

but you're a thrill seeker, aren't you?

You fix your eyes on the keys
as you straighten your knees
and
keep them apart
and
before you start your next stanza,
I give you all you can handle and more.

If it's all the same,
you can give yourself more.
Please don't be ashamed.
Greed benefits this instance.
Glutton unbuttoned and bound to punch
line after line out
whilst I dig you out.
Shout and I'll reach for your soul.
Fingertips along your spine 
searching for a chance to take hold.

Rhythm falls in place.
You can lean into me.
Baby, lose that grace.

You've earned the right to be filthy.

Feel me feel you out
and
fill in places
after
feeling spaces
that
should never be wasted
when
there's filling remaining. 

Training your eyes to the paper
while you thighs I savor
before and after enjoyment.....

My tongue spells your name
and I bet it tickles.
Calligraphy the same.
Nothing plain or simple.
Through the moist membrane,
your lips swelled like dimples.
Never asked you if you came. 

Never just a game we play. 

Read it back to me.
Shake and tremble.

Recite words that flail so fickle....

....let the remnants splash and trickle.

All in rhythm. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Tuesday's Grace"

"Tuesday's Grace"

I miss her when the week ends
and anticipate on Mondays.
Some days, Sunday takes forever
but nothing beats the change in weather.

Time tells the story before me.
Fragments.
Fragrance.
The frequency of my excitement.
She would entice with
no true motive hinged on doing so.
So beautiful her ignorance.
Innocence is rare. 

I dare not miss the moments.
I turn and pry and sit
with all my will and grit
just before she begins speaking.
Love through Life in all her teachings.
She would speak to those still reaching
and remind them that their further
is never really that far away.
Not much more she'd need to say.
Most would steal away
but I would always choose to stay
amid her ambiance so ever-present. 

Effervescent are the times
carefully logged as journal entries.
Others envy for lack of inclusion.
Our seclusion a relic among the modern. 

I reminisce through Thursday
after dreading Wednesday's arrival.
Hours wait behind the minutes
I acknowledge before revival. 

Recollection is vital.
Our day passes by at times
and I am left alone to rhyme
words she'd breathe that cleave the soul.
My least favorite of familiar roles.
I place her points in rhythm
toying with her pomp and poignancy
to preserve the jewels within them. 

She's a blessing not as routine
as the seconds that circle minutes.
She begins with what dreams drift into:
a smile that would subdue the savage,
comfort greater than a mother's carriage
and a voice as soft as petals.
One could settle on such and be fine
but I long to experience her mind. 

Divine if never defined before now
would claim her as embodiment.
Selectively inquisitive yet fully aware
that all the answers haven’t been shared.
She addresses with care
and would never feign her interest.
At her very best, I imagine
her in the brightest lights fashioned
for one as radiant as she. 

Time is what we're taught to see.
That's why we overlook so much

but in her presence, life can't rush. 

The atmosphere demonstrative.
Deliberate decisiveness.
She is energy displaced but never wasted. 

With haste, it seems our days are less frequent.

Friday is a quiet reflection
of what I'll always treasure.
Through the chatter and laughter of Saturday
I make time to count the measures. 

Pleasure a pompous assumption.
With gumption, I've learned to look for more.
Life is less of a chore
when there is happiness to chase

and at least today, 

I can look at her face. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Love And Water"

"Love And Water"

One splash and I'm losing my mind.
One sip and I'm falling in line.
A few dips and you'll fall for it thrice.
Don't trip. I once thought it was nice. 

Those are just thoughts. 

I could spill some more.
Make it seem enticing.
Let me thrill some more.
Let me feel some poor
when I fill some poor
mind with the grand design. 

You're fine?
You decline?
No?
You will some more? 

Never underestimate the ability of a lie. 

It is a race.
Fast pace.
The agility to fling you into obscenity
adorned as affinity in all it's divinity.
Synchronicity feigned.
Their reaction the same.
When they call out your name,
your conviction is tamed.
Your defense is now lame.
Clarity slowly mamed
and there's no time to waste.
Rub it out and erase. 

Would've braced yourself
but there are chasers to swallow.
Bottom of the shelf
and the remnants to follow.
Wonder and wallow
as it runs from your pores
like children from chores
and only a few tears can restore the moisture. 

Don't regret when you sweat.
That's called a life lesson.
Don't cry if you're dry.
Make dust from transgression. 

Even when your kidney starts to clench,
thirst must not be quenched. 

The fowl fare from the stench
so thirst must not be quenched. 

Life will dare. Don't relent.
Thirst must NEVER be quenched. 

In your heart you will wince
but THIRST MUST NEVER BE QUENCHED. 

Left feeling full, weak and timid
after gorging on a gallon
pushing far past limits
never set by the standard barer.
So if the issue is standard,
why is the receiver a bitch or a bastard?
Never outlined the hazard.
Just tossed them on the train
to see some trees when the forest
could make better use of the rain. 

That pit in your stomach called pain
is nefarious.
It will carry us
as far as we wish to run
but like wild game caught in vines,
you will not escape the gun.
The pit is having fun
and will see you bawl
and beg it for another taste
just to make sure that you fall. 

Try to crawl dried up.
Like your limbs tied up
and your skin rides up.
Can't pretend. Pride up. 

Can't defend so peruse.
Can't contend so just choose.
What's a sin to new rules?
What's a win if you lose? 

One will keep you alive.
One will thrive as you concede.
One will help you survive. 

One is a want more than a need. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Proximity"

"Proximity"

The hardest thing I'll do
is think of how to look at you
and smile.

Honestly,
I thought it would take awhile
to place you in this setting.
Loathsome trials so unrelenting,
a dozen moments worth regretting,
a hundred miles and no forgetting still...

The door sill sealed
to these sound proof chambers.
Resembled infants in their manger
seeking refuge from it all
where the darkness crawls
and holes are punched in walls
and bottles are hollowed out.

There's nothing left to talk about.

Conformed to this routine.
Crush it all.
Burn it clean.
Stare at the steam and inhale vapor
then do us both a favor
and look away when you address me.

I've yet to perfect the task
and my masks are worn.
Most of them torn from my face
by hands that used to soothe.

Rather rude to norm:
The misinformed
but we are so very astute,
aren't we?

Nothing daunting.
You don't taunt me.
Terribly gaunt to be concise.
What you want you don't say twice.
You play nice until it earns no thrill.
The sudden chill of altered will
withdrawn beneath stints of indecency.

Life visits frequently
to remind us of that
which we try not to recall.

The fall.

Who stands to be victimized
if we both proceed to plummet?
Met you at the summit
on the very cusp of insanity.
How clear does one think
while pushed to the brink
dangling loosely from the edge?
Released my hand from the ledge

but the descent felt like a lifetime in the making.

Found some distance.
Captured grace.
Lasted briefly until your face
found reason to incite me further.
In a murmur I have cursed you.
By virtue alone I am thrown
yet I survive this fall
albeit with broken bones
and I still have not received levity.

You lay there next to me.
Blood you swore you'd never taste
has gravely disfigured your face.
Can't turn away and you lay there.
Sufficient to say that we'll stay here
and my difficulty will remain true:

The hardest thing I'll do
is think of how to look at you....

...................and smile.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"The One With The Lights"

"The One With The Lights" 

She peers over her shoulder occasionally. 

When turning her head,
it looks like she is daring
her past to catch up to her.
New her.
Newer.
Never knew her
but I almost wish I had.
I'm sure her past was as alluring
as the present she displays with grace. 

One glimpse of her face
and I commit her to memory.
Symphony of billowing leaves
whisper rhythm in her stroll.
Delicate yet in control.
Not defined by role
or how others may perceive her.
I believe her. 

Believer I've become in her presence
in the most perfectly possible essence
of effort displaced without twisting one's face.
Her countenance holding firm
to dreams one can't pretend to conjure.
She knows triumph and forfeiture
but will shy away from
an open display of either. 

I
Need
Her.

Like lust was the conclusion forgone
positioned well within a zone
next to awe, admiration
and other indications of desire. 

She is the fire that I presume
does not intend to consume
but rather to serve as a plume
on which all surrounding is illuminated.
I've found myself drawn to her luster
with more intrigue that one would muster
for what took three forevers to grasp. 

Hands clasp as she speaks gently.
Wondered if she would befriend me
or think that I'm strange...
Maybe she'll find that endearing.
In the clearing of busy streets
cluttered with faces to greet,
everyday existence in all its volume
appears meaningless without her inclusion. 

Like nothing I've ever witnessed...
She is distinction.
Whilst life struggles to climb the rungs,
she is true ascension.
That next dimension.
My paradise
although I'll likely never earn
disclosure of her sacrifice. 

If emotion lined her wrists,
she would enlist resistance
in the form of her penchant
for persistence in squalls.
Calls from the caring
blaring as she passes by.
Few would trust a try
merely for the sake of wonder

and she is wondrous to me. 

Mystique of modern art
in the form of thick lips,
French tips and milky skin
encapsulating within
a mind that knows no limit
to what it will discover.
She is the marvel never uncovered
that hovers over frequently.
Mystery I do not wish to solve
for the sake of being involved and infatuated.
Saturated along my path
are remnants of her last stroll
and I see everything around me
under these broken light poles.... 

Mercy Me. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Star Crossed"

"Star Crossed"

It's dark outside
and we have no audience.
I suppose these are the moments ...
one presumably could afford to miss.
Nights when raindrops trickle
to serve well as visual distortion
now observe diminished portions.

Two singular.

The child's finger frantically tracing
the images in her brain
displayed beyond her window panes.
Streaks of energy
drawn from affinity untamed.
I barely know your name
but I wonder how you sound
reciting mine to request attention.
Contention so simply ignored
that no afterthought was stored.

 You burn bright to command my sight.

Knew nothing and expected less than.
We can ignore the streak
but the remnants will linger.
Maybe that child's finger
will document our impending collision.
Vision is a loaded concept, after all.

The fear of falling once so ever present
is now relegated to the essence
of what memory will not acknowledge.
Knowing that you're glowing
makes the fall much more enticing.
Your inviting hue as you blew past
fast enough for blinks to rob the anxious
I instead chose to experience in one breath.
Left to my own graces,
I'd likely pursue until
the faceless you offered countenance.
In my confidence, forever is less than adequate.

So we soar high
and we fall fast
and the light crawls.
We've let time pass
too much not to take full advantage.
I have perceived you too rare
not to plot one's path toward.

If only this weren't so hard....

We know what we want
and learn where to find it
but never plan for what sits behind it.
In my most powerful of influences,
I still doubt I'd have ever drawn
close to anything that resembles you

and for that I am fortunate.

A rare sight before these willing eyes.
A surprise I've grown familiar with.
A love warm enough to feel
lifetimes away before seeing it for real.
You appeal to my dreams
with the very mystique
that child observes in the streaks
that decorate the sky at night.

Color bounces then fades behind you.
If fortunate enough,
I'll be traced to find you
up high where the stars can't climb.
Our own atmosphere
and should the day come
when you would again cross my path,
I intend to draw you near.

Streaks of glow that crawl forever.
In our distance,
we could care less about stormy weather
when we fall together.

 
 














Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Dreams I Can't Remember"

"Dreams I Can't Remember"

They looked on and then scattered.
Glass shattered
as makeshift molotov invoked dispersion
alongside tear gas
and the flash of burning vehicles. 

I want off now
but I can't pinch myself hard enough
to divert my vision
from the endless river
filling the streets much faster
than that August afternoon nine years prior. 

So I sit here and observe
nerves pushed past the brink
whilst I sink into the background
silenced by the sound
seen in mouths that scream
inconceivable fear and anger.
Danger all but a conclusion forgone
for a multitude of those at home
with martyrdom and misconception
misconstrued amid the deception
that their last resilient purpose
is to hide that they are nervous
in honor of a service perceived
to achieve a goal that
they drive further from in unison. 

I just want to sleep one night
without the plight of this life
threatening to drag me under altogether.
All together,
they implore and ignore simultaneously
to satiate their sacrifice of sanity.
The charity of "may they rest in peace"
followed thereafter by anarchy in the streets. 

The plow and pillage
of a village responsible
for their own sown seeds
and the direction those roots will reach. 

This cannot be reality.
This....tragedy.
I frantically await the day
when the sun will impart rays
to free me from what I imagine
can only feasibly be a fabrication. 

Did I drown from the water
splashed across my face
like the blood that has traced
the very trenches I reside in?
Should I rive in fear
and shed tears with those
whose clothes are tattered
with loved ones murdered by the guns
they now refuse to relinquish? 

Time far from extinguished and I'm drifting.
Can't seam what seems
and can't see through this sea.
Tumultuous tide embracing me
as I float away helpless. 

HELP ME.
I NEED TO WAKE UP. 

For viewers who love to shake up
the reality and the outcome,
where their mouths are from
and why their speech shouldn't be free,
chosen strategically until upheaval
gives way to a wave of people
who we've seen routinely tarry
suddenly rally around a common hatred.
The chosen weapon against this faction
a well placed media distraction.
Some distortion in generous portions
to salve the numb with pop culture
while the battle lines are drawn. 

I myself used to fawn over such a sight. 

The trend of nightly sounds replaced
by the demonstrative pace
of footsteps overflowing with vigor.
The bitter taste of rage
torn from every page
as if there was a deadline
for one to capitalize on headlines
with some nerve to lash out.
Gone are the days
when one would look to hash out
a much more amicable solution
without the call for retribution. 

This revolution was never fantasized. 

These shoulders have grown weary
and I can barely stay up.
All that surrounds me is dreary
and I've no will to raise my head up
to reveal misty eyes
far too exhausted to cry.
Should I gaze upon anything else,
I would look up to the skies
amid this trouble and discomfort.
Not with words to say.
Just in cautious delay
waiting for God himself to say 

whether or not these are our days
or if I'm still sleeping........ 

.........I can't tell the difference anymore. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Delivery"

"Delivery" 

I'm here on my back
and you voluntarily can't breathe.
What we need acknowledged.
Honest and bare. 

Would swear on it all
that I wouldn't get that phone call.
It obviously was never enough
to simply eliminate the bluff.
Stuffed me deep past airways
like days trapped in limbo.
the window barely predicting patterns.
Like a lantern's wick embracing flame,
your name escapes my lips
like embers drifting from the furnace.
Furnished well across this bed.
No clearer head for what we've said. 

Vision fancied and enjoyed
until tangibly employed.
No repentance.
Toyed with senseless
and it all made sense to we.
Shape and color happily distorted
in lieu of what we've purported.
To this day, I still can't ignore it.
Recollection of my body contorted
in surrender of released tension
that you'd ambitiously dismember. 

Understand why I choose to remember.... 

Grasping moments daily
where time can stand still
whilst I briefly relive the thrill
of a fine mess well made.
Cloaked under the thick shade
of racing minds and your eager lips.
Gently kissed the tip
as you latch onto my hips.
Soaked lap and cool air.
fist full of your hair
and guidance all my own.
You knelt at the altar
just to knock over the throne.
Home alone in welcome company.
Hopefully, no one would come for me 

before I did the same for you. 

Siphoned my soul whole
and replaced it with a new
fresh
exciting
enticing
igniting of fire I never knew existed.
Couldn't resist even if I had the nerve
to ignore the time reserved beforehand. 

Your hands. 

Surveying the surface with precision.
Timeless movement under conditions
that most would squander in anticipation

but not you. 

Watched you fondling your fixation
with a purpose only disclosed
after seeing that the morsels of your labor
never make it to your clothes.
Closed mouth well fed.
Still on my back. Spinning head.
Nights since then my skin glows red
sitting at the edge of this bed.... 

....thinking about all that led us here.

If it never happens again,
rest assured. I will remember.
This I won't return to sender. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz