"The Village"

"The Village"

Place I've come to like
after just visiting once.
Would stroll past cars and bikes. ...
Never rode there once.
Drawn long across those ten minutes
bypassing big business,
Mom and Pops
and all the hipster hangouts
where regulars would stay out
until panhandling garnered success.
Saw a girl I went to school with.
Sometimes shorts.
Sometimes sundress
but always only on the way.
Had as many words to say
as when I had that crush on her
but that was way back when.
Opposite direction of the barber shop
where friends from my childhood would stop
and share their account of nothing
and everything at the same time
until the local artist gets exposed
for using a different beat
with the same rhyme.
Can't determine if
I made this walk
around the same time
in my stints of frequency
but I would frequently
try my best to stay late.
Knew I'd gone too far
if I crossed the intersection.
Convenient placement of the sign.
Blocks away,
not hard to find
if one would take the time
to simply look up.
Took up the senses
in my nostrils first.
Pungent potpourri of spices
set on enticing my thirst.
Hint of sugar slightly flavored
I'd breathe in layers passing merchants
No more for me this moment
than price tags attached to purses
purchased by those aiming to impress
but I digress.
Would sip to sort out life's grand scheme.
Would sip again and before the end,
the evening dream that once gleamed
would seem
to last as long as the steam
blown away before each taste.

Place I've come to love
before long
like an old song.
Nostalgic.
New affection I'd have found
before returning there.
Scent of her hair
played fair with the aroma.
Routine all her own:
Fruit tea,
Vanilla scone
and the subtle rush of color
washing over her face
as she drew her mug near.
Sight so familiar
I've only ever seen after we've kissed.

Reminisced while stirring slow.
Lonesome now where lights once glowed.
Memory I'm too strained to show.
Years since I've been inclined to go
by myself.

 













What does it really take...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Rum Before Reisling"

"Rum Before Riesling"

Everything is yours
I don't wanna think anymore
tired of the fight
fed up with the back and forth
close the door and lock me in
would it really be a sin
to make my heart your slave
would it really kill you to just let me in
can we just focus on
what we feel
embrace the moment for
what it is
and let time fall still
like raindrops on a window sill
quiet beats of a love
that seems too real
I don't wanna give up
so hurry with the liquid courage
brown liquor
red cup
filled with promises to make this last forever
never remembering
this moment is all we have
this moment is one we can't get back
hush - I don't wanna talk any more
everything is yours.

Anything I want
except for the daunting.
Your haunting.
Your tossing about.
Flaunt that freedom in front of me
and I will make you want for me
as playful as I am with your desperation
as the mirage in the desert.
Can't tell where one ends hurt
or even where the pain begins.
Grinning when you should grimace,
optimism said you'd win this.
You'd do well to mind your limits.
You've felt each sip.
You've soaked in spirits,
sulking winless sunken shine.
Sharp the itch upon my spine
when you say you've had your time
but still search as if you'll find.
You are bound:
high-strung with nerve
defined by what you may deserve
so how dare you contend with taunt
to give me anything I want?
Who are you?

Who am I?
Who are we?
In our drunken states
too much liquor
can cause blood to rush
and the undoing of zippers
goes down
just a little quicker
than when sober thoughts prevail
when taunting turns to chase tales
of past lives
marked by creamy thighs
that are thick enough to save lives
all the while, we tease the limits
back and forth
teetering on the lines
as I push back into it
fists grab hair by handfuls
just to guide the motions
we've drank enough to fill oceans
and the motions make what we see
a tad bit blurry
but hurry - I don't want to wait any more
what is mine, is yours.

The mind implores
what the heart ignores
but the portions poured
make that struggle unappealing.
A peeling...
appealing, the danger...
anger that strips away
revealing to lips that say
"Fuck It."
I can't duck it anymore.
Done with the chore of brooding.
I'm not proving
anything by not moving
closer to what you know I need.
Perceiving past stints
where your eyes squint in pleasure
felt deep between organs
in angles one could never measure...
Straight. Not mixed.
A little ice.
Let me pour.
I'm done ignoring the signs.
I've taken time
now mine is yours.

Written By: Kiana Donae & Devin Joseph Metz

"Bleached, Faded..."

"Bleached, Faded..."

Found the middle of our hottest days.
Forgot then remembered how to pray.
Cold sip sitting on the porch.
Meals would be arriving soon.
Said we'd be ready for the change.
Just waiting to see a purple moon.
Impatience rose and inhibition moved.
Nasty sex in the last room.
Air conditioned to chase the steam.
This must be exactly as it seems
or I at least would like to lay and dream
as long as I can.
Thoughts and plans.
Thought we'd planned our getaway
from less purposed days.
Figured out what words to say.
Practiced til blue in the face.
Recited then rewrite it
then recite it once or twice more.
Knees and palms on the floor.
Taking me amid shoes and jeans.
Twice that night before games.
Love and Lust
and all the same.
Insane how much I thought we knew.
Convinced that we truly grew.
Couldn't see the dark for the colors.
Concentrate on one.
Ignore the other.
The end smothered by hopes and wishes
and the wettest kisses
on lips so syrupy and viscous.
Fast forward from then for a reason.
Never really paid mind to the seasons
until my desperate case made for overtime.
Hoped it would work out over time
and it did
but
not how we expected.
Requiem for the neglected.
Accepted you as what I knew I wanted
while becoming what you don't deserve.
You get on my nerves.
How I wish the swerve
was much more deliberate.
Delivered it as "remember when"
between friends
still fawning over more than.
More than some years since
and a stolen glimpse
still invokes the reminisce
but the lights aren't as bright
and that moon is still white
and you still can't see
past yourself without me.
The biggest reason to forever doubt we. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Reservoir"

"Reservoir"

Lower than tone.
Your incessant screams on repeat
No higher than the seat
you were convinced is your throne.
Down deeper than bones
archeology can't dig up.
Promise that when I sit up,
you won't force me to get up
as I am not guaranteed
to be solid when I land.
The pilot has plans premeditated
but the free falling
can only hope to be sedated
before smacking the pavement. 

Low like the thoughts
that accompany depression.
Lasting impression.
If left to your discretion,
this session would be brief.
The conventional discomfort
that mixes well with grief
and a hint of disbelief
has shaped your view of me.
Don't latch on to everything you see. 

Down like knees over the glass
and the shrapnel
with hands tightly clasped
and pain ravaged eyes to the sky
begging for something whole
deserving less than half full.
Emotion the handful
that escapes when you squeeze.
Slow leak on snow peaks
dripping down into the valley. 

Lower than trash in the dark alley.
Had today's dinner in my savvy
state of manufactured grace
but a lid across the face
and a knee to the gut later
and I'm no more fit
than I was when I begged for favors.
Surviving in the distance
by staying that far away
from the surface.
My purpose set
to be ignored and stepped over. 

Who is lower than me? 

Maybe she is. 

Flung to the wall
or deep into the bed
head down
drowning sound
despite deliberate defiance
until somber silence.
A sullen science
one must be at their lowest
to voluntarily lust after. 

Who is lower than she? 

Maybe he is. 

Pressed to the hood
observed in a hood
objectified and hunted in the hood
perceived as commonplace for no good.
Headbutt against wood and metal.
Testified that he was known to mettle
with the bright lights,
sirens
and shiny medals
sworn to protect.
No word of the neglect
to duty in dubious derelict
until incited and blown over
by people forced to love living lower. 

How low can one be... 

Lower than the stool
one stood over
tipped over
kicked over
by the tips of toes that longed to float
pulled too far down not to choke
provoked and
tired and
hopeless.
No guess unless defined
by the much more deranged
as simply a disturbed mind
that lacked social interaction.
Brisk, surprised reaction
without sufficient dedication to memory. 

Who are we?
Depth can't recall.
We were taught from the crawl
to finish on our feet
but when forced to our seat,
we are closer to hands and knees
than we would be
had there been incentive
to remain standing
without the painful landing. 

Low like the dust.
Down like the gear
too worn from the rust
to trust with progression.
The blurred lines between
recession,
obsession,
depression
and regression.
With an ear to the ground,
do you even hear a sound
from me? 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Darker Ribbons"

"Darker Ribbons"

Billowing across her face....
.... pillow soft those lips I taste
whenever we get close.
Subtle scent that dissipates.
Funk that cannot be erased.
I cannot ignore her chase.
Obvious as when one craves
what they aren't ready for.
Seated ready for a new dimension
but intervention looms..

Not like she found me
speaking loudly in these quiet rooms.
Not like I found her
through the shroud that is this cloudy room.
Not like I'm able to easily
detect her perfume anymore.
Either way,
time extends the day
when she opens the door 

but air does not embrace me. 

This is too much.
I need distance
but I can't take it:
Too much distance.
Close to touch as blood may rush
but I may choke. 

Too much smoke.

Planned I have to tell the truth
but when lips part,
low hanging fruit
silences tone and inflection.
Peach flavored sweet confection
dangling in front of the tongue
that cares enough to tell her.
Days I would regret her
end up with us feeling better
doing what we wish...
...dish served warm beneath covers
but my lover loves her habit
just as much if not more.
Not so lonely when that door creaks these days.

Told her it would kill in hope she'd panic
but instead,
she raised her head,
said "It's organic"
as if she planned it. 

Don't understand it.

Thought something was wrong with me.
Just before she'd come for me
and after she'd cum for me
she'd reach out for some comforting
but not without consistent light.
Not without a cough each night.
Not a day salvaged in hope
that we would rest without a fight.
It's not right but we're not wrong.
Annoying like your favorite song
drawn slow through ears.
My recent fear indecent
just for what it means:

It would seem I fear for health
but like the rich still chasing wealth,
I run after the feeling
without revealing the shame. 

We are the same:

She's aware of a tension so fresh.
Strands of her hair
like the grain of her flesh
enveloped by this barrier.
My heart is unfit to carry her
but what love won't raise
lust will hold down.
What will be in the end
won't be known now
or much later, hopefully.
I hope that we can heal.

Broken bricks can build nothing solid.
This love is real
but love this violent
is fatal when passive. 

We don't have much beneath these ashes...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Stones Against The River"

"Stones Against The River" 

Sunset significant to slower pace.
I swear,
we've been giving chase
for months worth days now.
How we've seemingly drawn closer
is a farce to perception.
Distance will not yield
no matter how high we build
and scale to bear proof.
The roof was once a sky
for eyes that looked past never
giving chase to forever. 

Dust and smoke.
What was left of the path
provoked by expediency.
Decency measured by time
instead of sensibly by tread.
Concepts crashing, cloudy,
dry and blood red.
Well to do is dead
and the clearer head hangs lifeless.
Began living less as if
such sacrifice would bring proximity.
What sense are we
if to be,
we neglect the need to see
the circle that will not cease? 

It takes a crease in time.
A welcome wrinkle in monotony
to draw away from hopeless
and peer into possibly.
Positivity aside,
is it the ride or the destination?
Wherein rests this fixation?
Is there elation in the pretentious
chase set forth to merely thrill us?
Are we at peace with just contentious
to the point where progression kills
if we would dare look to reach for it?
Is the never ending race the true forfeit?
Can we even afford it anymore? 

Pretty thoughts are novelties
that time will see corrode and rust.
Must melds with the mold
and this path, crackling and old
with each day will just erode
until only stories are told
in our boastful, bold tone
of how close to home we truly were.
The scene observed
better seen than heard
should be seen then heard
lest perceived absurd
or old
as tales over tea and whiskey.
To miss me
and none of the experience
would mean far less in respect
to what we've claimed in this instance.
To miss you
but none of the moments trapped in time
would barely conceal the rift
caused by this paradigm.
Can't reason with a rhyme
so out of place but not erased.
We just don't have the time
so in spite of the risk, 

we chase. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Impasse"

"Impasse" 
 
Reminded of the fall
so far from the summit.
It seemed so often that I plummet
that I wonder who watches anymore.
Any more liquor
before I'm delivered
to the top again?
I'm so high.
Free flying above the bullshit,
the President,
pulpit
and the precinct I've seen
more than street signs.
Can't recall when I last reclined
given this bed held up by screws.
Back reinforced yet bruised
as tough as leather when you step down.
Feet of yours like
that of Persians
which have never touched ground
that would not be conquered. 

I wear labels of dishonor
with no proof of dereliction.
One may ignore the connection
but the direction must be followed.
Tears we've had to swallow...
...choking back
with broken back.
My son asked why.
You shot him back.
My sister cried
while on her back.
I press.
I try.
You take it back
long before I can touch it
and wonder why they say
"Fuck It."

What I covet is my life.
Built your nation in our strife.
Killed my father,
Raped my wife
and told me to pay the price
for this mess. 

This....stress.....
...distressed and angry
as you have made me....
...obsessed and aching.
At best,
it changed me.
So when you claim we
are not the manner of political
capable of reaching the pinnacle,
make note of the cynical look
because you never took the climb
from what I can recall
but what we know is when we reach high,
you will campaign until we fall.

What's it like being colored in America?
Being told that everything your ancestors
fought and died for still isn't yours.
Laws that's been passed that
were never meant to include you.
People in positions of power positioned
to protect us, ignore our cries.

Living in a world that pretends
to want you to succeed.
Tailored made obstacle courses
retrofitted with obscurities.
Three strikes and you're out.
Jail cells constructed to not only
confine the body but; dismantle the mind.
... cell by cell.

System set up to make you fail.
Indoctrination is a weapon
of mass destruction.
Force feed propaganda.
Porous mendacity at every turn.
Double-dealing politicians.
Everyone's against you.
Media set in place to bedim your vision.
Can't trust them.

Hands up, don't shoot. I can't breathe.
Those actions and words don't
mean a thing to a officer of the
law with a hard on for justice and
an itchy trigger finger with only
his superiority complex to guide him.
Intruding into your personal space.
Question. 
How can you resist arrest for being put under arrest for not committing any crime?
Infringement of the highest degree.

Ostracized from that of what
one would consider a human being.
Things we've created..
First, looked at as obscenity.
Next it's reverse engineered.
Then, you guessed it, 
it becomes alternative facts. 

But yet, with battered hands,
contorted backs, and with
feet that have become threadbare.
We have endured all.

Now, with fist raised high, it's time
to begin our accession to the summit.
The Revolution is upon us.

Written By: Eric Gumas and Devin Joseph Metz

"Blinks For Whispers"

"Blinks For Whispers" 

Still think of you when I smile.
Embrace in a dark room.
Stolen glances under bright moons.
Light appears but retreats soon.
Looked at me as if viewing the world.
Drew away once the phase turned.
My favorite days before the world burned. 

These were not the things you told me.... 

Out of town on the last night.
Sacrificed for the turnaround.
No chance of a cheap flight.
Stayed here instead of hotel rooms
yet we're further away than midnight and noon.
Grabbed the phone just to plug it up.
Ignored what I wouldn't cover up.
Reclined and pulled the cover up.
Maybe this time I've had enough. 

These were not the things you told me....
.....how would you.....

Resting there with your hair down.
Felt dismissal in the air now.
Early flight in a few hours.
Could've sworn it was the next day.
Seemed fit to be a rest day.
These really weren't our best days
and the best way to convey it all
would be to say it all
but I wait and stall
and I lose my chance..... 

.....hands hide deep in the pockets.
Fingers often move when I speak
but the words to speak remain
etched in walls across my brain.
I hope they never breach where confined.
The mind won't mind
but the tongue is not willing.
This is killing me
and knowingly, 

These were not the things you told me...

No heads up for it all.
No safety net before the fall
and the ceiling looks like the wall now.
Let me lay.
Wouldn't let myself say
that I'd never let this go
and I'd never let you know
even when it starts to show.
Matte replacing the glow.
What was new now feels dusty.
How I feel when it's just me
searching everywhere that answers must be.
Can't say that I trust me
with this much me.
Just too much, see.
You just thrust me into this void
where the only noise heard
are the unspoken words:

Told me that my love was a gift.
Said that my love caused the rift.
Told me that I should be strong.
Said that I took too long.
Told me that patience isn't perfect
but said that the patience wasn't worth it.
Told me that this life is full of lies.
Pledged the truth to look into my eyes.
Said that I should ask then demand.
Told me that I'd never understand.
Spoke of healing when I felt my worst.
Certain wounds just couldn't be nursed. 

All these truths I wish I never heard
even when you've never said a word...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"20/20"

"20/20"

I sat too close to the screen
and it claimed some vision.
Sight held ransom.
Paid quite the handsome price
to suffice with these frames
and suffer through these names
I've now grown numb to.
So much from you
I've had to endure
in a distortion as pure
as this saline solution.
Said I'd gain my retribution
but I don't think I want it
now. 

I
just
wanted
to
see.
Imagined life through the monocle.
Focused and trained the eye that goes
wherever this mind would have it. 

For what it's worth,
I keep them clean.
I channel surf through TV screens
and study long on what is seen
as worthwhile among the peers.
These years have been different since
insurance covered every cent
so that this world would make some sense
at least from where I sat....
"Who is that?"
"What are those?"
"What's worse: his posture or his clothes?"
"They sit crooked on his nose."
"How could he see to read his prose?"

I suppose,

...I
just
wanted
to
be
anyone
or anything
or any way but me.
The right inclined and will to see
I've now ignored vehemently.
Saw what they saw
so I hid from me. 

Emerged from
the dirge of my depression
with lessons learned in fear
prolonged like the essence burned til seared
into my mind certain and clear
as my reflection
as they rest upon my ears.
Years made a fad of the forlorn.
Once scorned now lauded.
Applauded even.
Receiving what I have no use for
now.
Remembered how
but you're forgetful now
and I find that entertaining
amid the maiming with your games
and barely recalling my name
except when exacting some shame
to promote your own effort to fame.
You see me.
You always have
and I am now
what you'll never have the chance to be.
Fancy me in my frame
when your she recalls my name
but would exclaim yours in intimacy. 

I
am
all
of
me
and you can't even examine yourself.
Lies are not fair to the health
or the eye sight
so while you fight through the tears,
think of one among your peers
that once had to choke them back,
turn around and not push back
just to preserve what you now lack. 

Protect your face when fate attacks.
Don't break that frame.
They won't take it back....... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Candle Wax"

"Candle Wax" 

Raining sideways.
The bulk of my days
spent searching for the sunlight.
This mud might be the blessing.
A lesson taught yet ignored
here on the floor
with this wet book of matches.
The drapes
match the skies
and my disposition.
Envisioned a much brighter place.
Felt that to hide my face
would be protection from the rays.
Now I'm content concealed from days
in ways most introverts would question. 

Impression
in my mind
in my head
in that bed
sunk deep into the fabric.
Figured me elastic:
circling back with the charm
that always guaranteed some harm
to one
or many
of the select few
who knew I'd soon return for rest
but even the best of my acquaintances
could not have possibly foreseen
exactly where I've been these days. 

Would raise up from any position
to make sure it glistens.
Listened as fingers snapped.
Waited for the scratch
that would give way to clarity.
I would practice nights
but tragically
had no similar effect on illumination
at first
but in my worst of determined works,
both ends would smolder.
I the holder
in control of absolutely nothing.
I hoped it would last
as long as my pride
but in my ways,
I have learned that the day
will not delay for me.
What I can see
is relative to my portion of time
and mine would be considered mismanaged. 

Fortunate for the darkness
as no one can see the tarnished
remains of what I took for vain
until maimed further than I can bandage.
This source of power damaged
and sticky in my hands.
Used to burn bright where it would stand.
Ignored the breeze or ceiling fan.
Made clear the path to my demands so hollow. 

Now what have I to follow? 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Pull Over, Please..."

"Pull Over, Please..."
 
Gained so much more of myself
the day I lost my mind.
Sanity for Levity.
A tradeoff that quite honestly
still weighs on me heavily.
Saw comfort for the ruse it was.
It all once looked heavenly
but those were dreams.
I can't expect complacency
to be more than it seems.

Started as a stream
finding land far from it's lake
where snakes were scarcely found
until drowned by hours counting.
We're mounting but not bothered.
Deaf on the surge of slaughter
grasping near
from our peers
to clasping ears
that would stay here.
Stream is nigh
but not high enough.
Worn our tires rough.
No tread.
I swear this back seat
is the bed
I wish I wouldn't need eventually.
Extensive the pleas surrounding.
The warning signs are blinding.
Sounds that of alarms
Blaring.
Chiming
but by then,
we'll be confined
and just fine for now.
Stream like lines
that now
have coursed across whole streets.
Thought for sure it would've peaked
by now.

Head tucked deep beneath.
I've truly lost it
somewhere in this sheet.....
.....I feel it slipping away
with each moment gathered to pray
with people I'd only said "hi" to.

Familiar comfort,
You've dropped by to
distract me from my search presumably.
Offered free merch where looters be.
Referred to that perch
as a front porch once.
Flowers wouldn't float much
but this stream merged with the river
to deliver displacement.

I taste fear,
I hear light
and can view behind sounds
all while sitting down.

I Have Lost My Mind.

Can't figure to find words
other than what's heard on the radio.
Really though:

I swore it was just a stream
like a day ago.

They may know
or not
that I've given up on plot
and this corner is what rocks me peacefully.
Sort of found a piece of me.
Hadn't lost it all apparently.

Not yet.

Cool with open windows.
Huddled with eventual widows
and mothers whose children
won't make the trip.
One strong shake will tip
and this boat might capsize
and kill us all.
We don't swim well.
Sun is leaving us.
This won't end well
so for now,
far enough is halfway.

It's been years since then
and I'm still not above it
so instead of inquiring
again,
let's just change the subject.

.....where's my mind....

Harder to find now
than the start of the stream then.
Forced to find time
for this boy among men
to be perceived as such
but seriously, though:
If it isn't too much,

.....where is it.....

Bright enough to burn
but little left of the wick.
Mingled with distraction
but my attention would not stick
and this has gone too far
and this air is getting thick
and I can feel my throat closing...

...can we stop?

I'm getting sick....

 













Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"When Days Would Dream"

"When Days Would Dream" 

More than a month
and I'm still reminiscing.
Enough time flew by
for a "Hi" before kissing...
...wishing then that time would freeze
until my knees no longer buckled.
Thoughts huddled together
like clouds before the change in weather.
I was in the greatest state of whatever
whether or not she's noticed.
Took years to grow this
strain of mature affection.
In reflection,
these feelings were barely dormant.
Distance and the world itself
rendered as mere doormats
to an encounter worth the endurance.
The assurance was the fact
that I'd saved every single scrap
of sacrifice dedicated to her
because I knew the aim
was to see the face I've claimed
to be worth what life became. 

Her voice wet in ears
and her tone just as moist.
Would travel far from home
for her voice alone.
Aura trapped
yet flowing free behind
a silhouette well defined
by the standards of onlookers
amassed in awe and intrigue.
Speed itself served her in detail.
She,
frail in appearance to the provoked
but enchanted and firm
to those aware of what she invokes.
Weeks since
and I can't rinse the swift
or the wishful
or the darkest of dirty thoughts
from this mind still processing the moments.
On this recollection
I would push for delay
just to relive the day
that Love,
Lust
and Desire spoke to me.
It was there that I left hope floating;
encroaching upon the deliberate
for what felt so close to the knowing.
Instance where air has no temperature
and distance doesn't control me.
Place where what I'm holding
is the only feeling plausible.
Horrible to recall
trying not to fall
as I forced the back pedal away.
Words that we would say,
embraces we can't talk about
but knew were ever present
on seconds to the stare.

Days the weight of years
and I can feel the separation
like this desperation
all at once in my thoughts.
Characteristics of a lack of patience
I wasn't taught.
Deviantly distraught.
Desire dancing with depression
in obsession so obscene
that I pray the dreams remain subconscious.
Wholly conscious of how I view her.
Knew her in ways
that contradict imagination
but the sensation is just as intense.
Incensed by her air space.
Entranced by her fair face
and skin as smooth
as stanzas spoken after first sips.
First trip into this mind
where lips climb
past word play
to serve an extended visit
where hips become barriers
between limit
and the longing languished and lamented..
..presented is she before me
adorn in the glory of the Supreme
whose screams breach the skies
until her cries release the evening torrents. 

These are the visions
sure to torment me
each day 

and I've yet to walk away from her....

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Astral"

"Astral"

Wanted to be there.
Wished to see
that look of disappointment. 
Thought it would help with the atonement
that was due to you
so long before this.
Hoped to notice the end
long before the fork
where my path wasn't as narrow.
You reach out for my shadow now.
Longed for a second chance
to show you
that I know how
and I know now
what I've ignored for years.

I should've been there
before the tears formed.
Before clutching my charm
was the most painful gratification.
Solace forgone
for the sake of consternation
washing violently over your face.
Your grace is amazing.
Steadfast love never changing
but holding all the parts
cannot protect a growing heart
torn between where life interacts
and one so desperate to keep it intact.

I wish I'd noticed.

The anger that wouldn't leave you alone.
That nervous shake in your voice.
The raw fear in your tone.
Lectures lengthy and lost to ears
on what you will not condone.
My call log.
A hundred texts
that have riddled my phone.
Observe you sob as you hold.
Sidewalk so brittle and old.
Wanting to chastise and scold
but my skin is getting cold.
Wanted to be there for you.
Wanted to comfort you too.
Hoped I would chase tears from eyes
but I'm the reason you cry.

Soon before help would arrive,
I hoped we'd get up and go.
Wanted to ward off the spectacle.
Didn't want you on the show.
I had no chance.
Yes. I know.
Just one new wrinkle in this story.
Another sign of the times
like those who were lost before me.
I'm what assumption expects.
The child whole cities will fight about
causing riots with fires out.
The man that Poets will write about.
My life which should still be talked about
will only incite debate.
I know your pain they'll saturate.
You'll cross through years of plains you'd navigate
for me.

Wished I could tell you
how selfish I felt
while knelt before us.
Rendered helpless
watching me lay as I once did:
Still and stubborn
while you struggle to lift me
once more
as you successfully did
so many mornings before.

Hoped I could be of assistance
but I'm out of vision.
That for you
and this from me
is not what was envisioned.
You'll beg and plead
as life impedes.
You'll say it was your fault
yet from where I stand,
all you demand
will not shift this result.

Wanted to be there
and here I stand
while lifeless in your hands
yet I can't reach out
and I can't touch you.
You rub my forehead.
I can't kiss you.
Your love I've misused.
Pain I can't diffuse.
I know we've had our issues
but I just wish I could tell you
how much I truly miss you.

I just....hoped I'd be close enough.....

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Blue"

"Blue"

Well done
and hell spun
and charred to my furthest extent.
So done,
I'm outdone
that all I could think to offer was spent.
Tossed me and flipped me
and you just would not relent.
Pull up a stake from the tent
and try your best to breach me.
You'll have to do better.
Elastic as plastic
and tougher than leather.

Exposed to the point
that I forgot how to cry.
Pulled me within an inch
in a pinch
where a flinch
would be worth much less to try.
Might find some sign
if I opened my eye.
Somewhat enclosed
but you pull
and you pry
and I start getting dry
but you won't let me die.

Tortured me long enough
to bring some tender to pink.
Just enough tilling
and grilling
and sealing
to make me think.
Concise in tactics
like that of a shrink.
Inches away from the brink
but close enough to
guide the blade that would follow
the course you have set forth.
The easiest swallow.

Displayed this setting
to those who bothered to care.
Figured me too well conditioned
to portion
or section
or share.
Figured out how best
to take me there.
Barely in need of repair.
Fondled me
like fingers through
follicles of hair
and furnished me fickle and fair.

Barely apart.
This barely the start.
I for others to please.
I am flaunted while teased
while tazed
while fazed
while wondering when.
Will it be longer?
Will I turn again?
Fixed before friends,
I am naked yet clothed.
Tend to my temperature.
Climate controlled.
Savored me like that of
savior when they kissed his feet.
Worked long enough
through the tough
that your penchant for rough
leaves you somewhat complete.

Finished before one knew of the start.
Barely a glance.
Hardly a chance.
Just the first part.
Just the preview
and we knew the risks involved
if you wouldn't go further.
Flirting with heat,
I am removed from the seat
and thrown around
just for the presentation.
Thin is this layer of hesitation
for fear of rejection
and subjection to trials.
Who would dare claim me early?
Why aim for something so vile
and say this much is
all that you've wanted?
Have you not trifled and taunted?
Am I not vexed and haunted
but the seconds that you
have exposed me to?
Finished already?
No more to do?
No more from you?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Fatigue"

"Fatigue"

Saw Wesley with the squadron
ready to snipe
like vipers ready to strike 
flying across assumption..
The gullible guards with gumption
performing like slaves
in front of master's furnace.
Selfless service
doing cartwheels
for this car dealed away for cheap
complete with C4 furnished
to plow through towers of insurgents
but they earn the right of discernment
concerned with me
sitting next to my brother
Who knelt with me and my helmet.
I guess I'm going to hell with
the patriot too consumed by fear
to lend his ear
and clear his eyes.
Eye have not the dye
Eye has seen dysfunction.
Eye wished not to function.
I am not the one, then.

Was drafted genuinely
to lead a high life
without the champagne,
banquet
or the rocky mountains.
I'll serve as fountain
for those in need of cleansing
but rinsing
won't make the soul less black.
We hold these facts
while attacked by the media
deployed in contort
and
employed to report
on our minimal importance
to their life and times.
Find me stabbed with
the knife that was planted
so far after the fact
that the entire city knows
of that horrific video.
Cuffed me while he held me down.
Knees mashed into crackling ground.
Blade to neck.
I'm smiling now
and you know John is smiling down
or up from beneath us.
You decide when you need us.
We bear the fruit
and you still execute
worse than those who kill as believers.

Peruse, Pitiful Perceiver
before you get back to me:
Who else wants to label me criminal?
Not the average peaceful piece
so understand if my speech is cynical.
Time was of the essence.
Now,
it's much more than critical.
Days before funeral service,
you deepen your voice
and call us hypocritical.
I was mad enough for the movement.
I was mad enough for improvement
but it's hard not to question purpose
when there is such disservice
from the nervous to be seen
and lurkers on the scene
who strain the hurt in front of screens
who retweet
and post
and meme
then wait for the next new thing.
I knew things were going south
and still struggled with the high road.
I rode the silence through violence
and strategic persecution.
A dilution well deserved
for he who maintains reserve
to the point of conservatism.
I am not exempt.
Criticism holds no allegiance
So we lean with the lane
whether sane or in.
Was often near the pane
peering in at the outer world
where we are hurled into iniquity.
This life don't owe shit to me.
This life won't get shit from me.
To live this life....
....is to kill me.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"(K)new Better"

"(K)new Better"
 
If you ask me,
it was always too soon.
Soul portioned between two rooms ...
like cells without padding
so gladly explain how this prevents
one from telling the other
to go to sleep
while the former weeps beneath sheets.
Savant of long speech
to beseech the savage mind
to take more time than offered.
Hopefully that will end the slaughter.
Father drinks
and
Mother thinks
when
son and daughter never make it home.
You would make it known
but what's the point?
You wonder?
Were you not pulled under
by that fear
of who would disappear
before you got the chance to free them?
Fuck that Carpe Diem
and Magna Carta.
This life is harder.
You say today:
"We need to pray"
but you want praying partners.
Concept of self
left on the shelf
gave up on being cleaned.
Cobwebs and dust
distort your vision
until true religion.
Forsake your genes and
a mean fee for jeans
and sneak diss in line for sneakers.
She found my size
but I don't need her.
Would rather use my greed to plead
for the parents that still grieve.
Give father one more night
for bedtime stories.
Can mother have less worry
and more affection
for her child that lacks direction
but won't close the map?
You sing old hymms and clap
and then nap on the action.
My reaction wasn't like this.
My reaction was polite,
shit,
I might be my own indictment.
I'll admit that I don't like this
so close the door to both rooms.
Late tears won't provoke moons
to urge sunlight to come soon.
No time for light.
It's too soon.

I'd extend my sadness
past the porch and grass
when I see what cash did
after they recorded the blast
like it really mattered much in court.
Your retort the idiotic patriotic
simple similarity while somewhat symbiotic
with the stance of
"that's just how it is."
No frills is the result
when the chill of feeling fault
no longer slows the choices made.
I treat this world like one’s grave
and I’m not ready to die.
Not like this.
Struggled trying to write this
without looking like my wrists are healing.
The appealing feeling of concealing a truth
that looms over like low hanging fruit
is the precursor to my confusion and stupor.
Threw your judgment and conviction
at one tired man’s decision
not to contradict his value.
Has disgust not earned its value
compared to what was endured?
So sure in your stance
that you won’t glance my way
until I sit
or kneel
or lay
instead of standing as you say.
Sing of my oppression
at the next congressional.
Belt it out like a years anticipated
visit to the confessional.
Peel off the professional
and embrace what is real.
You can stand still
and refuse to feel
but contempt will fill the room
for delaying your guilt
like it’s too soon…

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Dissection"

"Dissection"

You were my reason
for my pleading with life;
believing that time 
should not push forward
while moments like this happened.
Wished to stand between reaction
and initial intent.
What would not be
we would invent.
That's why it felt real.
What was felt
and what I feel
are as blurred a line as any
and the stitches have not healed within me yet.
You might regret,
but please don't relent.
Just tell me:

This Is Not Love,
is it?
This Is Separation. 

Distracted by elation.
Slipped behind the blind fixation.
Foundation of fissures.
Foolishly running with scissors
until dismembered in defeat.
Do you remember how discreet
your retreat wasn't?
Was it enough to see
the least exposed part of me
to make that your excuse?
Left me laying here in languish
to tend and bandage through the anguish.
How does that not spell abuse?

In your truce
and your soft words
heard as familiar
as the first long conversing
are poorly hidden hints of rehearsing.
Your aim to nurse the situation
through contrite tone and dissertation
Made this feel more like visitation
moments before the door would close.
Who noticed your voice
from the choice of dozens?
I came on risk
and you left me nothing.
Would not desist.
No.
We both felt something.
Just mind your wrist.
You swing blades while running
and your wind bends metal.
Before you swing,
let's get this settled:

This Is Not Love,
is it?
This Is Displacement.

Less than sufficient replacement
running in place with hope
for what was not as it seemed.
Distance of the dreamer.
The believer left benign
maligned and mangled
in what we both said we wanted.
Still haunted by what was heard.
Words that cleave the knees and ankles
left me sprawling,
had me crawling
as a sinner to the altar
but I was meant to be sacrificed.

From this height,
the light revealed the vision.

This Is Not Love.
This Is Incision.

Made your decision
without the degree of precision
needed should you operate.
Could have at least thought to sedate
before you grabbed the scalpel.
I've been trampled.
I've been robbed.
Shrugged in scrubs
to finish the job.
Would pull myself up with the handle
but as we kissed,
my wrists dismantled
now rest on the mantle in mockery.
We were hypocrisy
and I fought to force it
but can't fight the forceps.
You have me exposed.
Went to reach for the rose
as if there were no thorns.
Thread and tissue torn
and I still cling to the illusion.
I leave each lodged in my skin
because I fear the profusion.
I long for you
but you're hurting me.
You brush
but I rush with some urgency.
You push away then scream emergency.
Why the delay?
Why not?
Just murder me

Because This Is Not Love.
No.

This Is Surgery.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"What Remains"

"What Remains"

Remnants rarely wash away
time that we have tossed away
like fray against gutters
clogged and cluttered
barely able to muster sufficient drain
so that the stains at least would rinse
whilst the pain remains
ever so plain.

Uncommon in moment
yet common enough
to be snuffed from headlines.
There is a deadline for breaking news
but no limit on the view from a block away
where you were.
There you lay.
Helpless.
Helped less by this world
and the decisions you've made in it
expedited by thoughts of you
often diminished
until magnified in circumstantial retrospect.

Guilt has reminded me
how routinely we respect the dead
and think nothing of the living.
We disregard the giving
and downplay kind gestures
but are never far from lecture
when life pulls you back into the mud.

Our hands are much dirtier
than that of yours, brother.
I promise you that much.

To touch your shoulder
or bring you in after handshakes
for a hug and a kind word
I've unfortunately heard and observed
more than initiated.
What I have left of my own regret
will not grace stanza
or the podium facing the congregation.
Our conversations will not carry
past the casket.
Thoughts have outlasted
any words I would think to say anyway.

When life exits,
entering in squalls
are the calls from distant contacts
looking for contact
like an abrupt breach in contract
where the clause clearly states
that they can only sedate their guilt
with lies they've built
stitched together with stories
of how much you've meant to them

but until they can say your name,
you're "Him."

What you mean to what is heard
in contrived words won't matter.
Makeshift remorse will run its course
and contrite times will shatter
and be swept away the next day

but on this day,

I don't want to stall
or recall
or remember
what I'll never forget.
Just promise those who loved you most
that you left with no regret
because even if you did,
know that we're not done with you yet

and we never will be.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

In Everlasting Memory of Gerard Howard.

Rest Well.

I Hope That You Have Found Every Measure Of Peace In The Next Life That You Couldn't Find In This Life.

"Directions Home"

"Directions Home" 

You've lost your way.
It's hard to say.
Thought we'd play
but no more today.
Remembered you far away.
Trouble was fun then.
Could run when things got heavy.
Not like we weren't ready really.
There's just too steep a price
to let you feel me.
Kneeling in a pout.
Wouldn't think to kick you out.
Whenever I search for doubt,
you look up,
open your mouth
and I release it there...

I care for how you may take it.
You lay before me naked
and I'm not feeling the vibe.
Not initial. The residual.
Events that ensue critical thinking.
Enough blinking
and that sinking feeling finds me.
Your arms find their place behind me
yet I blindly pull away from hugs
with hands that have traced
and tugged you closer.
Lead you over after travel
through the raised and broken gravel
of these streets best meant for walking.
Talking in exclusive tone
as we'd roam
when we shouldn't be alone. 

Be a long way away from me.
Don't ask me if
I said that in sincerity.
Verily I say
that I'm the most irresistible
bad idea that you've had up to this point
and you're the most decadent
vial of vindictive venom
yet to veer far from my lips.
So much that it slowly kills
when I look to rinse with every sip.
Mind foggy from trips
taken with vague intent
to the inquisitive, anyways
just to buy time
for the latter means of a few days.
How many ways we've mixed these wires.... 

.....tired truly.
Knew we would ignore
how fast the time passed.
I'm saying,
one of us should remain cognizant,
right?
Deeply draped, disfigured sights
indulged upon at night
bound to drag far to the right
where we crash,
fight
and yell
over how it was all derailed.
Frail in retrospect.
You fancy your fear of neglect
and I'm still here 

trying to make crooked lines intersect. 

We reflect progress so hard against the grain
that only confusion and pain
can serve as some sort of foundation
to halt the speed as all
is sure to come crashing down
so turn around
and don't look down
until the porch looks just like yours.
I'll lock this door
after retrieving your spare key.
Not today.
Please.
Go away.
I've nothing left to say.
Save my time:

Find your way. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz