"Asphyxia"

"Asphyxia" 

Lead with the lie
with
the tears that you've cried
with
eyes puffy and dried
with
the comfort you need
with
these colors that bleed. 

Air I swear I can't breathe. 

Left me there and I leave.
Left me spinning.
I heave
and I'm dizzy.
I'm sickly
but call me and I'm busy. 

I promise no knowledge. 

Against all insistence,
you fed your persistence
and led the resistance.
You fought me relentless 

only to fling your armor
far across the harbor.
Dead weight under water.
Depth the only charmer 

but I want to breathe. 

Surpassed the submerged
with no urge to survive.
Preserved in the dirge
of what never could thrive. 

Not alive.
Not to rive and wallow.
Nothing there to swallow
when at best it was hollow. 

Against my advisement,
you sever the ties with
the clouds in your eyes
with
decisions that bind
with
precision and time
with
no fear that you'll find 

that which you support knowingly. 

Knowing me won't make it better
and showing me may take forever
when I can't see.

See:

Everything is red
from everything we've said
now everything is dead
yet I drown above the ocean. 

Emotions ever present.
The refreshing, effervescent
expectations smell so stale.
Long terms of short scale
inhaled and regurgitated.
Heard we made it.
We are facade.
Nervous ways that we stave the rod.
The careful call of calamity.
This endless cycle a tragedy.
Drag for me and I keep the dirt
and when trading places, I keep the hurt 

and we love to flirt
with
those imperfections
but
shine the light
and
we shun reflection.
Swift dereliction.
Some sacrifice.
Took in the poison.
It smells so nice
and I start to choke.
Can't feel the clouds.
Can't see the smoke.
Can't create logic.
Far out of socket.
So out of pocket.
Swollen and toxic. 

I......................
....... I can't breathe. 

Maintain verse.
These chains around my trachea.
You say
"If pain hurts,
then why smile when you're spanking her?"
I protest.
You throw tests and tighten rope.
You know best.
I show less
than those provoked.
You will see me fluctuate in colors
before you understand
that you need not suspend and hover
to gain the upper hand.
Other than,
otherwise
and another way,
you advise what you despise
then the look the other way

but I know the truth:
whether judged as saint or sinner,
time you've concealed will soon reveal
that your air is getting thinner........ 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Boulevard"

"Boulevard" 

Promise I nothing.
Divine to find something
under the layers of drifters
searching like sifters
as if it would chip the pavement.
Came with ambition
but no actual mission.
Just word play and emissions.
The buy time tradition
held in high regard
when things get hard. 

Promise I next to...
.....very much near
to the point where it all around you
steers clear of existence.
That persistence in your stroll.
Facets of control
you have all but begged me for.
Lay upon me like bare floors:
hard, bare and cold.
Deep cover the lonesome hover
of nightly positioning.
Glass broken and glistening.
Decorative, desolate shrapnel.
Moments you've tackled
the hassle of wondering how they got there
and in the air.
and in your hair so greasy.
Larger shards removed freely.
Smaller crumbs discovered in leisure.
Concrete erupts in seizures
to incur the upheaval of housing.
Lounging.
Parlay.
Scrounging about the brainstorm.
Sudden thoughts upon temporary norms
and form will not take
until evening breaks the sun into sections. 

Promise I forever
that never is more commonplace.
There's the chase
and the race
for a taste
and its all fun.
The lead pipe. The handgun.
The one near the end of suffering
and he who will come to know it
soon after blowing it
upon that which still knows no sift. 

So let them drift. 

The least of worthwhile gifts
invoking some form of commemoration.
Cold World with few warm situations.
Such a frigid life.
If not for strife,
recreation would lack luster.
Hush her. Rush him.
Touch them and be we
who can't relate and will not relent.
Consent of deliberately blind eyes
that cry somehow
when what was planned now
is still more how
than one who now mingles with the gutter
where butter was a bonus
and the best bread was stale
to the wounded and frail
but so few could tell
given their desire driven grit
much to the chagrin
of pompous, manufactured wit. 

So, 

What solace accompanies this observation? 

Promised I over years.
Promise I won't forget.
Promised eyes shut to open ears:

I won't promise you shit. 

Now if you'll excuse me...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Last Pulse: Sprint"

"Last Pulse: Sprint" 

In the most favorable of times,
you'll be gone before you read this.
Maybe this was in grand design.
I just don't know. 

Maybe we need this. 

Call it prerequisite
influenced by the negligence
that is ill fated aspiration.
Reaction to fixations
we should not latch onto.
We just mettle on, too.
Dust has settled on two
and only one foresaw it all. 

Careful not to call.
Closure is not apparent yet.
Head against the wall.
Each thump an inkling of regret.
Initially I fret.
Loneliness is never scenic
and even though we sorely need it,
none will rise high as the Phoenix. 

This....
..... this that we emit.
Hapless Lass
and
Miserable Pile Of Secrets....
.... such is our zenith. 

We lived for the impossible.
Don't die before the plausible
can stave your making sense of it all. 

All fall but few land. 

Release hands.
Relinquish plans
and forget all
that we've wrought forcibly.
Gentle steer through the tears.
Past wants ringing in your ears
you should ignore vehemently. 

Be it with me
or the next,
find no solace in a test
that you shouldn't have to pass.
Fastened seal for turbulence.
Misplaced will has earned you this
and you won't kill.
Can't murder this
by believing that I exist
in forms of familiarity. 

Life will never uphold charity.
Accept the depth.
The gravity.
Don't convolute your clarity
when it isn't as endearing.
What we've smeared has left us smudges.
Neither earned the girth of judges
when the image that we see
is not quite what it used to be

so before you get used to me, 

take this chance to use and see
how far gone you'll need to be
before there's nothing left of we. 

Me. 

Advance as far as time will take you.
Never look back.
Don't read. React
because life will forsake you
for piling on the pain
that has strained you
long before we've crossed paths. 

Don't be the martyr.
Take that cross back
and bear progression instead. 

Not speaking from the head
or the heart completely
because
be it logic
or my feelings,
you will still aim to critique me. 

Don't know if you're moving slow
or you're halfway away by now.
If you know what I know,
then you won't even ask how. 

Trust me. 

While your feet are motivated
before your footsteps forsake you
go as far away today
and hope that tomorrow takes you
to a place where you can be.
Better place fit for the free. 

This day,
the chase will end with me. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
______________________________

"Pulse Five: Whisper"

"Pulse Five: Whisper"

 

Been long since.
 Prolonged rinse of this mind
 presumably designed to delve
 further into that which is shelved
 in hope of the aversion of judgment.
 Perversion I run with;
 all but done with subtleties.
 Not much luxury left in waiting.
 Flirting.
 Skirting around this....
 this mound of experiences
 I've admittedly fancied more than once.

 

I've imagined what it would be like:
 Your world willing to greet my curiosity.
 Philosophy of the enchanted
 never to shy far from that
 which surely keeps you up at night.

 

Oh the lines....
 the lines you've never read.
 the words I never said
 that have found time
 to emerge discreetly
 when they want to scream in pleasure and hunger.

 

Unsuccessful my attempt at aversion:
 See you hair,
 complexion fair
 but your thighs.....
 ....no....somewhere else.
 Anywhere.
 Lovely eyes
 but those.......
 ........thighs.

 

Limbs I've savored
 flavored like life savers
 with a gummy center.
 Yummy I'm sure
 and I've yet to pour a sip

 

until that day I'd call forever

 

when you'd tuck lips
 that I'd unzip
 and your hair flips.
 My hands take trips.
 This is navigation.
 Excavation without the ruins.
 Nothing ruined.
 Symmetrical beauty
 you hide for yourself
 because you barely knew me

 

but I aimed to know you.
 So much I've shown you.
 You trust and reciprocate.

 

I hope it's not too late

 

because it's been too long since
 I've been privy to mystery.
 Sugar is your sublime.
 Bitter your misery.
 I crave it all.
 Willing to crawl
 should I be granted the chance
 to kneel before it all.

 

Ears that can't yet hear through walls
 but when limbs meet lobes,
 I hear it all.
 Your thighs have grown thick with secrets.
 Concerned with if I can keep it.
 Giver of compliments.
 River of confidence
 sipping each drop as you leak it.

 

Been long since we've conversed.

 

Your silence is the worst kind.

 

 Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
 _____________^________________

 

"Fair Warning"

"Fair Warning"

Look:

Don't fall in love with Poets.

Not meaning "unless you're ready."
More like "if you can avoid it altogether."
Conviction tougher than shoe leather.
Heart the softest confection known to man.
Damnation reserved for we you hold dear
until we are deemed far too "Shakespeare."
We are the highlight of your day
and the one that got away.
We are the game people play
when our questions meet delay

so stay away.

You will rue the day after awaiting our arrival.
Evaporators of your past.
Rivals of your future
purporting those bittersweet "remember when" moments.
Atonement nonexistent in lieu of persistence.
Consistent in our displays of affection
despite your purposeless deflections.
We hang in recollection
as proof of everlasting effect.
More enchanted with ambiguous than direct.

I'm not done. Don't interject.

Don't do this to yourself.

Every detail amplified in our eyes.
The skies are cluttered with our attention.
Knowledge retention while prerequisite
is far less exquisite when discussing transgressions.
Inspired by unbalanced progression earned.
We are the lesson that few have learned
burned in to the mind until time releases all.

Feel free to slip but please don't fall.

Responsible for slightly more than half
of every time you cry or laugh.
Every gasp a feint reminder
resetting the timer that is your desire and regret.
Our mannerisms your best bet
when discussing the prototypical frantic
hopeful soul willing to lose control
just to remain a hopeless romantic.
You will panic over losing us
or our trust
or just some semblance of chivalry.

Spare yourself that misery.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.30 Of 30: Reach"

"Reach"

Can't think of what I'm missing.
Don't know what I've envisioned.
Across my face ...
without a trace.
I guess I should've listened.

Wouldn't show me
but you told me
to learn
when to recognize my limits
and when to ignore them.

Thought I had time
to explore them first.

That was the problem.

Procrastination that would steer
me toward my greatest fear
full of tears
and self regret.
Priorities I would forget
giving way to memories
that hurt to recall.

Am I falling for it all?

Can I crawl?
Am I drifting with no anchor?

One should never labor
with no intent to retire.
I am tired
and much stands before me.
My hands...
callous and forming issues
I'm too young to acknowledge.
There's no need for working knowledge
I may never get to pass on.

I've passed out inadvertent lessons.

Greatest of my transgressions
given the impression
on which I have been perceived.

I appear to have achieved
that which I surely lack
all while falling back.
Tumbling.
Plummeting.
Afraid I may not thrive
from this involuntary dive
when there are
no open hands to claim me.

Only I can save me.

 









Maybe.

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.29 Of 30: Semester"

"Semester"

Had you on my mind
like the first day
Time lost in the grind
in the worst way.
Hurt me more.
Repeat words you'd say.
Uninvited
but I show up
on your birthday. 

You are therapy.
Way too fair not to see.
Not for me you are.
Not yet by far.
Here in this car
out in public
subject to acts
that should only take place
privately.

Privacy?

They don't give us enough of that.
Always a hindrance.
An annoyance.
No enjoyment in watching
how often you interact
with him.

Your friends only like him
in hopes of one day
being a sufficient replacement.
My friend tells me
that I wouldn't gain your affection
with such aggressive statements
but the truth can't lie
and I might die
or just go over the edge
and push you both over the ledge
just to keep him from happening.

This is not acting.

Those notes in your locker:
No facade.
Sitting tables across from you:
No coincidence.

Even this very instance.
This very moment.
I swear this is we.
We were meant to be.

Fully aware
and I see
frightened faces when they ask
"WHERE IS SHE?!?!"

See?

This is so US!

Do you trust me?
Are you lusting?
Please don't shove me....
........ DON'T YOU LOVE ME?!

Wet gloves with the answer.
Answering machine wiped clean.
"Do Not Disturb"
from front door to the curb.
On my nerves as they cackle
ringing louder than the shackles
I received after acceptance.

False admission of guilt.
Hard bed with no quilt.
Built true love in my eyes

but they say I lived a lie.

That just can't be.
He may have lost you
and there is no we
but you're still with me.....

........ you loved me.

Didn't you?

~ Society Of Poets ~

~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.28 Of 30: Comeback Reason"

"Comeback Reason"

Season of forever
and together.
Time where promises
consist of nevers
that are never said.

Officially unofficial
so it remains superficial.

Months where the cold bed
finds occupants aplenty.
Gently courting fabric and down
until one is swiftly
"locked down"
and taken out of the running.

Running away in due time.
Due favor for labor
once considered appreciated.
We hated what we've become

but found ourselves proud of the reminisces.

The recollection of kisses.
Boundless promises.
Fond acknowledgements
that often sting to remember.

Nights in December
when we would flaunt and frolic;
broadcasting to the world
what they never cared to know.
We would show them every crease
that we neglected to address;
be it my three piece
or your black dress.

Memories of sex
finer than my favorite liquor.
Forgiver of certain transgressions
and forgetter of most lessons
that aim to abstain
from another ride

on the train to perdition:

A selfish mission
filled with hot nights,
rough fights,
dim lights
and the longest days
in a myriad of ways
that turn my stomach as I digest....

.......I digress.....

Season of greed
where the want
overlaps need.
The seed planted among the envious.
Enchantment in the draw
strong enough to hide the flaw
and focus on instantaneous.
Extraneous at the core

but no matter

for in these days.....
.................months,
we want more
and more
and more still.
More thrill.
Less contingency.
More frills.
Less latency.

Season where "wait for me"
is all but nonexistent.
The persistent
insist with earnest
that they've earned this encounter.
Count her among the rest

if that is the best you could hope for.

If so,
what would you waste hope for?

~ Society Of Poets ~

~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.27 Of 30: Torrential"

"Torrential"

Object of my perversion.
Might incite some dispersion.
Tongue in cheek.
Sprung a leak
now I look for diversions.

Not like the subtle version.
My methods proven simple.
We flirt awhile,
I trace that smile
and compliment those dimples.



Gentle as Gentile
without pagan sensibilities.
Obscenities in slight
at the sight of
what I'd love to fondle.



Handle me like handles
channeled through tight grips.
More friction as hands slip;
twisting like knobs.
Throbbing prosperously...
...sloppily through slobber...
...reaching for control
as if to reap my very soul away.



Staying long enough
to make the mess substantial
and get creative with cleanliness.
Silliness a sign
of a benign façade
grinding away at the chance
to become less formal
and much more freelance.



Thoughts dance in trance.
Your stance on the matter
puzzling at first.
Now,
we guzzle from thirst
we've yet to request fully quenched.


The smell.
The stench.
Appetizing
and
Savory
like
gravy.
Eyes squint
and
Thighs clench
close enough to drown me.



Navigating mystic rivers.
Ignoring the shore
and taking on more water.
Harder to swim away from
given the sum of slow indulgences
experienced in increasing intensity.

Given my propensity,
the sky will part when you send for me.



~ Society Of Poets ~



~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.26 Of 30: Envisioned In Sepia"

"Envisioned In Sepia"

Those eyes....

Sunrise.

Some times I wonder
why your mornings
are so hazy.
Everyone gets lazy
but your disposition is...
........initially dormant.

Informed and abreast
of your best efforts
to hide the worst
of your occurrences,
I burn away
until you let down your
fortification.
The sensation felt before touching.
Rushing warmer through me
than the blood in my veins.
Linked by chains
of mutually desired contact,
I long to preserve
what you cannot keep intact
on your own

So you can zone in
if you wish
and create diversions
and hope for aversion

like how
those eyes.....

Sunset.

Dead set.
Locked on mine.

So careful,
those eyes
as they hold me
closely
guiding me to thighs
as smooth as light's embrace
before it retires for the night.
Slowly dimming light
in peach, grey,
grape and amber colors
bouncing softly against skin
I've only imagined between internal lecture.....

.......effective in conjecture
but not enough to dash concern.

I aim to learn;
not just earn the right.
Your stare tells stories
of fights you've waged forever.
Hard plastic,
metal frame,
all the same.
Masks woven in
silk
or leather
whether it remains
is of no discern to me.

You cannot hide what you are to be.

So look at me.
Don't shy away.
I won't pry away
but I will try each day

until I see
those eyes....

That perfectly smoky,
dreary disposition,
eyes fully focused
yet not ambitiously locked
on anything more
than what endears you to them.

Eyes that lead mine to
lips as complimentary.
Very standalone.
Lips that refuse to part
to acknowledge the world
swirling in madness around you.

Those who've never found you
would not appreciate the search.
Upon this bedside I am perched.
Not nervous. Very certain
next to curtains billowing
between air as crisp as winter.

You've filtered everything
I've paid a degree of interest to
and offered me a stare.
A glare between blinks
where I wouldn't dare think
to do look away this day

Or another, should I be so wise

to cherish time lost
in those eyes....

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz