"Climate"

"Climate" 

And who will write their words?
Speak into existence
all the sentences that air heard. 

Pardon me. 

While I'm here snacking on hors d'oeuvres,
they're asking for orders.
Molotov and torch heard.
Was taking my orders
but now
the check is on the counter
and the apron on the floor.
They are kicking in the door.
They were denied something more.
Never owners of our stores.
One of many excuses
used to substantiate abuses
they have suffered in a blatant sense.
Another decrease in numbers.
No wonder we're tense
and I've been latent since
my last recollection of that run in.
Woman across from me
and I don't know her name.
Another ounce of words I can't pronounce.
Expensive champagne.
Things weren't this strange
until it felt this strange
to see how much time changed.
Their throats slit and blood stained 

and who will write their words?
Speak into existence
all the sentences that air heard
but where birds fly,
I've seldom seen a bullet. 

Could fix my fortune on portion
but I might still pursue it
in manners they don't peruse.
Their challenge is in the news.
Biased political views
from those wearing the shoes
that have yet to frequent chalk.
No walks amongst caution tape
without camera.
Handle you
by handing you preparation
like lyrics from ghostwriting.
Talk more and more about the fighting,
rioting,
pillaging,
burning of buildings
but less about the reason why.
There is a shelf life in media.
Soon to be update on Wikipedia
when my people die. 

My people. 

I watch the hate
in their eyes when I can't relate
as if I'm trying to be down.
How I never come around.
How I never thought to visit.
Life outside of city limits.
My progress seen as a gimmick
My success washed over images
of those my age that cry
over those my age that try
but before that cage would pry,
most of those my age would die
and not nearly enough of it
was circumstantial.
That trip back to where I once was
I thought to cancel.
Found no reason to travel miles
just for rejection.
Especially over the misconception
that I wouldn't need protection.
Entourage econolodged.
Driver took a day.
Made it here with no delay.
They all have so much to say.

I know it's hard
but who truly stands to record? 

I'm still wondering:

Who will write their words?
Speak into existence
all the sentences that air heard. 

More bullets than birds. 

Blood curdles and boils.
Battering rams at doors.
The scratches of open sores.
Profusion through open pores.
They try to even the score
but no one cares to count.
The alive count five
or six a day
but that delay in the broadcast
is an attempt to watch them fall fast
under criticism.
News for the country
but something stale in journalism.
Church bells are rung
and then the time comes to negotiate
over the fate of killers
protected by those willing to deliberate.
Orchestrate some denial
and polish it up as progress.
Attend a senseless trial
and fish for some due process
to stave the reprimand.
Our blood still on his hands
A gun placed in the hand
of the young man who was unarmed.
Not charmed by their wiles
or their rhetoric.
Fight to take away our pride
but quick to call us heretics.
Selective embellishment
as long as our culture is defined
as entertainment for the times.
Pockets lined from the maligned
but the militant intimidate.
Their mandate exclusive.
All inclusive in their targets.
Strange their fruit you used to harvest.
Flung my cufflinks.
Tossed my shirt.
Parked my sedan.
Off from work.
Took this trip all by my lonesome.
Thought I came here for the wholesome
but I've walked into this war.
Cops that spar with the defenseless.
Night stick.
Gun butt.
Beat us senseless.
Place cross hairs against our brows.
Frame us later.
Kill us now. 

I know now
and I've been writing.
Witnessed riots.
Saw the fighting.
Knew what media would cover.
Social mediums discovered
ways to apply new restrictions.
Threat with sanctions.
Tease conviction.
Hide description under race.
Only show the victim's face
after the suspect is secured.
I am intrigued.
I am lured.
I invest time in the unknown.
I was silent.
I have outgrown. 

You won't like me.
I am concrete.
You cheap leather.
You will not spite me.
You don't compete.
You know better. 

The people you have slain
live on further in my brain
for my heart cannot contain
it all without a call
to have knowledge applied
to supplement and reside
next to violence so consequential.
I may not condone it
but I certainly will own it
and while others phone it in,
I'll just pick up this pen

and bring to the surface what the air already knew. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"F.U.C.K.M.E."

"F.U.C.K.M.E."

You'll kick start
from what the mountain do.
Fresh flesh quivers
before mounts of dew
that I will deliver
like the mystic river.
Giver of pain.
Never could refrain.
Ledger of pleasure.
I will not abstain
so lose your brain
while you leave some stains.
Give you piece of mind.
Take a piece of mine
Taste and take my time
Eat it from behind.
Open like wet pores.
Garments on the floor.
Wide open doors
so they hear your screams
whilst I lick you clean. 

Got me

Feeling
Under
Crevices.
Kicking
Massive
Energy.

Face still in it.
Let me finish.
Ignore grimace.
Grind through limits
as I run my laps
neck just trapped
between sensation and thrill.
Have my fill
then give you a taste.
Wet like honey.
Paste my face.
Silk and lace.
Squirm in place.
Adjust position.
You do not understand ambition
So I overstate
and I over-ate
and it's getting late
and I'm getting big
so I slob and spit
where my fingers slid 

so I can start 

Feeling
Under
Crevices.
Kicking
Massive
Energy. 

Fortune favored more than luck
Fortune for no zippers stuck
Unzip.
Untuck.
Found nips you've tucked.
Round nips to suck.
Buttons you pluck.
Tip kissed then sucked.
Head well, untamed.
Head swells from games.
Head game complex.
Rhythm complicated
but you maturate it.
You saturate it.
Sides saturated.
Lips locked.
Elated.
Too much excitement.
I won't fight it.
Please don't bite it.
Can't keep quiet
and won't keep still.
Mind, mouth and throat.
You take your fill.
Across tonsils
you let me spill 

as I imagine 

Feeling
Under
Crevices.
Kicking
Massive
Energy. 

No hands in.
Tongue dancing.
Lips dampened.
I cast in
and then draw out.
All out
and all for it.
Call for it.
Crawl toward it.
Can't afford it.
Something priceless.
Of all my vices,
I'll never fight this
warmth surrounding intensive strength.
Strokes of girth and extensive length.
Punch the passion til purple-pink.
Hear the tears and I feel your blinks
before eye contact
where I give you some
then I take it back
and you rake my back
then you take it back
and I wring your hair
and you hold it there
and we stop and stare
and we need some air
but we ignore need
when our want is need
and we want to feed
thoughts that curse and plead 

whenever we start 

Feeling Under Crevices.
Kicking Massive Energy. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"{Night}(Shade)[Tirade]"

"{Night}(Shade)[Tirade]" 

Way too dark.
Can't see the thoughts.
I'm not elated.
Just lost. 

Impressed by your precision.
Distressed by your decisions.
Obsession tossed around
and dragged across the ground.
Far from home throne
supposedly fortified with cobblestone and blacktop
until the top is black
so you can hop back
into comfort and hang up your pretentiousness.
Eyes wide open
but can't find anything in front of me.
Conveniently confronting me
on my perceived indifference.
Diligence to preserve innocence
while persecuting those
who will not join in the arms race.
Your pace cut.
Copied.
Pasted.
Wasted on the trend of the month.
A front to mask your appearance.
Clearance for any notion
that you just might like the potion
you accuse the world of drinking. 

I stand still
but I'm thinking.
Hands in front of me.
Finger feelers
searching for the filler
in your well placed appeal.
Strategic soapbox stance.
Employing the trance
and threatening the lonesome thinkers.
Tinker with the facts
until it looks more like opinion.
Spite the masses.
Organize the minions
to serve master in malice
and carry out more of the tragic
acts that should lead to a magic solution. 

The Establishment Cannot Condemn The Institution. 

Don't know the time.
Searching for light.
You don't want a fight.
You'll be here tonight
and I know.
It can be taxing
waxing militant
about ignorance
until asked about real world news.
Paid dues in desecrated discipline.
Adrenaline laced pace
charged by selective media
you purport across selected mediums
where the keys smoke faster than the barrel.
Times that travel with the spark
behind the scenes
and in the dark.
A pool of sharks starved for chum
and here we come:
The vilified led in the late
to await the murky waters.
Found it harder to swim at night.
Can't get right
or get away.
Not again.
Not today.
Cussed at if we walk away
by activists of today
that will not buy a ticket
or picket,
assemble,
organize,
occupy
or die tomorrow
for what the same sunlight suicide crusade
that they raved about two days ago. 

Way too dark
Can't see your fist
but graze my chin
and say I tripped
if asked how the stagnant tumbled.
Bastards to the belligerent bastion.
Factions cloaked concealing daggers.
Waving.
Raving.
Belting out the boisterous chatter.
Swinging rifles after trial.
Burning buildings after verdict.
Lord knows something serves a purpose.
Lord knows you're less angry than nervous.
Under pressure self implied.
Switch maneuvers. Exercise.
Pressed for diamonds. Futile goals
when pressed for time to crack the coals
and over time, it should've changed
but after hours look the same. 

Certain hours.
Curtain powers.
Cyberspace.
Inbox then inside the space.
Square pegs between the legs.
Earlier?
Liquor and kegs.
Before that?
Skim through the facts,
plan to react
and stab us when we trim the fat.
Toss reason in the vat and boil it brown.
Add revolution. Tear it down.
Make sure it drowns in each batch.
Whenever we break the latch
or find a way to break the seal,
your soul reveals no tolerance.
Common sense the rarest deal.
Anarchy on eighty proof.
So many sips.
You puke the truth.
Extend recollection.
Examine direction.
Don't question my digestion
while seated in the crowded section
where the nose bleeds
and they throw seeds
at passersby who won't watch the game.
Claimed and you don't know my name.
Assumption the sharpened blade.
You will swing and slice in light
but will you vex under the shade? 

Way too dark.
That's why I stand still.
Way too much.
That's why I chill
and just because I'm drifting,
don't think your anger is uplifting.
You are not the rise of man.
You are warm milk and ceiling fan. 

Say your prayers.
Amen. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Pink & Peach & Photographs"

"Pink & Peach & Photographs" 

Our colors are a little cloudy.
Very dusty.
Somewhat faded.
Not much luster mustered
from the same sunlight
that once bounced off of your hair
before washing over your fairer hue. 

We don't talk much anymore
but I feel your tone
like that of a daily conversing.
Unnerving how concerning I become
when we do interact
I'm sure
but I feel the need to ensure
that you are better than okay. 

Been away for years.
Had our share of tears.
Things we have yet find some humor in,
honestly.
Promised we our daughters
the richest portion of our rainbow
but as far as rain goes,
we've no clouds left to offer. 

From sought to fought,
the thought that only one lost
is a lie the heart cannot profess.
Bright red over stress and tension.
Not to mention
what it looks like
when you look right
and I see no wrong in admiration. 

Consistent fascination
even to this day.
Words hidden in stanzas
I'll likely never say
even if the chance was earned.
Dedicated pages of phrases
to my fume and fancy of you
from our large umbrella
to polka dots, jeans and boots
to pink passion fruit
as sweet in memory
as it was that night in November. 

Wrote to remember the touch.
Recall the blush.
Relive the rush.
Moments we'd frequent
before it all was hushed.
The longest lasting thrill
before the moistened chill
of black that spilled like ink
with streaks of grey across my kitchen sink. 

I think
and it all returns.
Every twist and turn.
Every lesson learned
and every roundabout
but well without solution
like pollution to my better wishes. 

Your hips and tone in switches.
All of your favorite dishes.
Salt and Pepper tomato business
and allergies to certain fishes. 

Hell this must be. 

Left so much we on the table
that the world must wonder
what would've transpired. 

Before scratches and rust,
Gloss replaced the dust
and we would shimmer with every kiss. 

Once heard that
with every glimmer of something new,
there will be a shade or two
on which the mind will rotate
to that which only ever lasts
in the past. 

Now that time has passed,
the best of our colors serve
to display our mixture in a fixture
as permanent as that picture. 

Handle my colors with care
and I will remain there. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Sheet Rock"

"Sheet Rock" 

Definitive deconstruction.
Roundabout collision.
My position as confusing
as the religion of the suicidal.
Pressure tidal
so I hold tight and fast
to that which might last
only as long as this reflection.
Detection of inflection.
Per notice of my motives,
I may need protection.
I hear them speak
but do they ever listen?
When I shine and glisten,
do I seem dull?
When I withhold a little,
can they peer into my skull
and see what I would like to say?
I try to hide away.
Cover it all
but familiarity has stained these walls
and the sponge is dingy. 

Floor beneath my feet flimsy.
Ceiling less appealing
revealing the opportunity to fail.
Small cracks and it is frail.
The only enduring constant in this hour
are visible reminders of just how much power
I never really had. 

At one point, I was glad. 

I smiled to cope
in hope of turning the page.
I tied the ropes
in knots that resembled the rage
that I kept far from my disposition.
My position still undecided.
Love unrequited
I've offered to the furnace.
Favor so well furnished
that time would have it burn slow
just to make sure that I know
that some things are worth salvaging. 

Life lines these inner cavities.
Cavalry of ghosts
that used to kick down doors.
Evidence of thoughts
that intermingled with the floor.
Dust trapped feelings
that lay strong against the ceiling
and four listless sides
that will impart no healing. 

Head in the corner.
Shoulders between ridges.
Eyes on the former
link between bridges.
Bridges in turn
I have burned in elation.
Now their remnants
and this room have relation. 

Freely the paint chips
that rubs against my neck.
It takes me on trips
and keeps me looking back.
Chips become chunks.
Dirty smudges on my knuckles.
No semblance of support
for when my knees would buckle. 

Chuckles seep through the cracks...

I ask "What's Funny?!"
but they just run from me.
No retort.
Never talking back.
Perceived that tales of frustration
would illicit conversation.
Instead,
every breach fills me with consternation. 

Creaks in the crevices.
Air between toes
but no sunlight in areas
where darkness won't disclose
all that erodes eventually.
Contingency the blades
that have yet to come down.
I have drowned in anticipation.
Fixation upon fixtures
that try to uphold the integrity
of a place lacking so much more. 

Each break like open pores
and tears offer no sufficient moisture. 

Fortress of forfeiture no more fortified
than the eyes that have kept it somewhat together.
Well wishes in the form of fairer weather.
A norm this place knew rarely.
The blades spin on an angle.
They dance.
They flail.
They dangle.
Glowing angels that come to haunt me.
They taunt me with the truth.
Around my neck the noose
that three of four expected.
Each of the four neglected
to reach out with my back facing them.
I can only trace them as high
as the cries they have collected.
Unprotected by foundation
or the cover that hovers,
I,
the lover of the last
will claim refuge in the crash
and the rubble.
Called me humble.
Called me meek.
Four in silence finally speak
when no one else is around
to observe where voices leak.
No more favor I should seek.
No one else will hear the sounds
when from years above the ground
all that surrounds starts falling down.
After a boom louder than gavels,
over time the voices travel
from foundation to the mantle. 

My position beneath the gravel. 

When they talk,
it all unravels...... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz 

Inspired By: "These Walls" by Kendrick Lamar

"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