Fox, where did you come from?
Where is your hubbyhole?
Why did you find me?

Your tufts of fair hair,
Your perky smile,
I don’t get it.

I don’t deserve your perfection.
I don’t deserve perfect winters.
I don’t deserve your lighting eyes.

These winter mornings make me miss you,
Your scent, your breath, how you always left me,
The pet names we called each other,
The small pieces of foreign languages we meant,

Your “Lo siento”s, your Elvish “I love you”s (‘Amin mela lle’),
The day of silence, I learned to sign my heart for you,
I learned so much through it all, my brain teemed,
But you only taught me how my pain was true.
    (And how to kiss.)

Winter mornings without warmth.
A compass with no North.

11-12-13

I write for myself.
It's almost impossible to turn my pain into art when it hurts as terribly as it does.
I am on the very edge of growth, hardly a first step.
Every line I write, I can only think of those who lead me here.
Calling them lovers is like calling my best friend a dog.
Sure, he's a canine, but he is no dog. He is a best friend. To me.
Calling them lovers was once accurate, that's how I felt, but now;
They're more. She- Is more. More than the ones I daydream of.
More than the ones coating the walls of my nightmares.
They are not people. They are not women. They are not loves. They are, unexplainable.
I showed Belle my soul. She showed me hers. And we encompassed each other. One step ahead.
Faith too. But she was always two steps back, never forward. And she didn't really love me.
And the most beautiful name, the one society shortened and butchered to simply "Kit-Kat."
She- was more than a fascination. She was an enabler.  Like being the target guiding an arrow,
She lead me, kick-started my life. She was the first.
Or at least, this declining helix spiral I call my current living condition.

Now this winter has come, an annuality to when it started.
I was laughing and learning her gorgeous name at this time last year.
I remember walking around that empty playground awaiting her responses to my petty flirts.
All was well. But I was too slow, and he was too entrancing, mature, for her.
She chose- and it wasn't me she was looking at- it killed me.
I craved her. I dreamed her. I can still recall one specific, for I have it saved.
Here it is:
     "I had a dream late last summer where I awoke in a white room in a comfy white bed.
      The room had a window for an entire wall and outside I could see snow melting off of black,
      naked trees which spread deep in to a forest of the same colors.
      And that's when I noticed a beautiful white face with dark hair and two blue eyes.
      She was just sitting there in light blue underwear and a white tee-shirt and she looked at me and smiled.
      And I moved over and kissed her and I lay over her just staring into those chilled moons for eyes of hers for the longest time."
     "And that for me, is nirvana."
And that for me, was nirvana.
Her and I. Winter. Purity, love. Cold and warm. White, blue, black and brown. The colors us.
God- I miss that. Those dreams. Those fantasies. Getting nearer to that, her voice and laugh.
-

The inaudible ebb and flow of your ‘sorry’s and ‘goodbye’s,
A mere ringing in my ears.
Speak lines of knowing Pain’s associates,
You are his main elective.
Stop stalking me you meat hungry wolf, stop ranging this land,
No life grows here, nothing can be saved or even forgiven.


Hypocrite,
You mockingbird,
You crow,
You jackal,
You cold blooded husk.


Stop singing,
Those words were meant for angels not harpies.

-May 28th 2013

The needle tore a hole two nights ago,
I didn't bite my tongue.
But it stung.

And bled. Slightly.
The lines lead
     to more lines,
Each was easier. Slightly.

And when I walked away for the night,
Come day I was clean.
And now I wear short sleeves.
Cause they can ask me "Did it Hurt?"
     And I will say "Ask Reznor, not Cash."

I don't have your privilege,
I can't cheat,
I can't stray away.

You're gorgeous,
I'm ugly,
I can't just go and say

"Hey **** me,
Okay.
Please just love me."

I can't do that.
Because I am.
Ugly.

Call me Michael if it pleases you. Call me Daniel, Jack, I don't care. Hippy, nerd, creep, weird, gay, weak, loser, ******, fat, stupid, illiterate, anti-social, addict, dog, *******, anything. I've been called it all.
Some of it makes me smile, some of it hides the shine in my eyes.
But all of it is nothing, because I know you are human, and I, I am Marshall Coleson Blaine Hiatt.

And I love all of you.

For leagues I’ve sailed
This sea for a home,
A lighthouse to call safe,
    A bay to rest my bow.

Settle down, build a house,
Start a family, or at least try.

The waters from my departure
Have been treacherous,
No wave trusted,
    But I’ve found you.

For leagues I’ve sailed
Looking for your light.

They say I look like a greaser,
Not sure that’s a good thing,
I dress nice, I guess,
I try to look clean,

But I slick my hair back,
It gets a Superman curl,
I smile and walk and talk,
Like I can get any girl.

You cannot own a human,
Even the most coolest.

Your smile was my everything,
The target for which I aimed,
Most lovely lips I’d ever seen,
Your body as great as name.
The jet black hair, Cloud sapphire eyes,
My treasure hunter seeked those gems,
Palpable love kept for such time,
At that moment I saw them,
I fell apart,
Pure beauty,
Hit me like a dart.
Blue moon on the sea.

“I’d die by your hands,” she sang,
She sung that song,
She strummed that song,
She was what I longed,
    for,

With you I’d be the sun,
I’d be the warm spring air,
I’d play with your hair,
And we’d share,
    kisses,

I like to color souls,
I paint them a shade,
I see if they stay,
I see if they made,
    progress,

But you are a river,
Constantly flowing,
Constantly showing,
Constantly going,
    further.

-July 8th 2013

The moonlight violet,
Refusing to bloom,
For any stimulus,
Will not open,
For even the softest eyes,
To view its glory,
In the softest light.
At the softest hour,
Through the softest voice,
Hear the softest word,
“Eternal.”

-April 26th 2013

Do you pretend that pain does not exist,
That my presence is irrelevant?
Maybe it is not pretend for you.

I'm here looking up at your shadow as
You walk over me and walk alone
In San Diego. The city of my youth my home
Away from home.

You are, that city, my heart away from my heart.
Beating and ebbing as the waves on the sand,
The arteries ache and stretch with the breath of my distaste,

I feel something with you gone.

And with you here. But that's not now because you're there,
Healing and skating and smoking with strangers
And taking pictures to remember being 19
in the tunnels
like the veins heading away from me.

19 lines to describe what eye feel when you ignore
Something you said was unique.

******* Anne. I ache.

The thin, clear layer that forms on rendered fat is glycerine.
You can mix it with nitric acid to make nitroglycerine.
Mix that with an alkali nitrate and something like sawdust or paper mush and -Boom!-

Dynamite.

I learn things when I listen.

We were put on this earth to suffer,
And that is what we're gonna do.

The peaches are off their trees,
On the ground and freezing.
Death consumed by life,
To produce again.
It's almost like they live on,
In the little cells of those who eat.

It's almost like that peach is still whole,
Even though it's been eaten and destroyed.
It was once beautiful, and always will be,
And it may even become a tree.
     Again.

If anything survives this winter.

I’m sitting here alone.
This empty car lot.
Another heart broken.
No preconceptions.
Nobody to point the way.
I need to break all the rules.
I need to beat the system.

I need to stop crying.
And stand up.
Shout out for her.
She is out there.
I can feel it.

For now,
    We have fun.

My stomach growls out loud,
But my heart moans silent.

Ferryman on the water,
Sliding his oar silent,
In the river Styx,
And is it quiet,

The thinnest line of ripple,
Seen by the thinnest eye,
Could tell where he went,
Where none dared try,

Upon the Styx,
Only one man could pass,
The ferryman alone can pierce
This surface of glass,

The land of the dead,
Two souls await,
Two lives of long past,
Both paid one gold, the ferry’s rate.
Both sailed straight,
Both would last.

After so long,
The fog was gone.

Clear.

Even the most acute sliver of that silver light can show perfection.

And though it may take me 193 years after my creation to land on the moon,
You need not be so close to realize her beauty.

We have telescopes for a good reason. Rocket ships are a hassle to work.

I feel young again around these girls,
This constant attention,
Playing the dating game.

Wooing and flirting and wanting,
I feel like I'm eighteen,
Which is convenient because I am.

It feels so nice to have no strings pulled,
I am liberated from concrete
And allowed to be me again.

Watch out ladies,
Here I come.

I am speaking to myself, by myself, for myself,
If you can hear me, you are a spy,
     Unwelcomed.
I speak out-loud to refine my thoughts,
To pinpoint what I mean and how I mean it,
    I am still unsure.
I am speaking because I owe debts,
Repaid by a piece of paper, near-weightless,
    For years of love.
I am sorry for myself, for the spy listening,
I am sorry for the events leading to this,
    Debts paid in lifetimes.
I am sorry for a soliloquy unspoken.

            ~Marshall, 11-11-13.

The world isn't as you know it,
Everything is a lie.
Nothing has substantiality,
And everything is subjective,
And nothing is ever right.

We distract ourselves with the little things,
And don't see what's going on.
We play our little games,
And **** like it has meaning,
We pretend that nothing is wrong.

We don't see behind the scenes,
In fact nobody really does.
We fight these wars,
We **** these people,
And will ourselves to shed blood.

And no, I don't have the answers,
I don't think anyone does.
But I do know that if
We keep going like this,
The world will end just cause.

Sea shell, sea shell,
By the stegosaur,
Millions of years prior to dinos
So often pictured together.

Why must it be so easy to
Break.

Pterosaurs are not all
Pterodactyls,
******.
And they are less bird
Than the monster you call T. rex,
Which was actually a scavenger.

Velociraptors don't exist as you think they do,
The closest thing you speak of are turkey sized
pack runners from Mongolia and China.
Or the Utah Raptor, over 6 meters long, from my native home land,
Utah.

You can't comprehend how much time
This Earth has been through.

We are less than the one percent.

Pop*
     Goes the cap on this small, oblique, orange bottle.
     Out come the shapes.
     In my mouth they go.
     Water.
     Cringe.
     Something sweet to aid.

     A glance in the mirror.
     “God you’re ugly.”

     Goodnight.
     Try not to cry while you sleep.

I breathe you.
I breathe you in the first breath I take every morning
I taste you in the NyQuil I have to abuse before I can sleep
I see you in the purple dreams I remember every night

NIGHTMARES

I have nightmares of you.
I nightmare you in my inadequacy and my ignorance
I nightmare you in my clothing and the way I cut my hair
I nightmare you in the tumblr girls I reblog
I nightmare you in the way my breath shortens when I can't breathe you and when I don't want to breathe you.
Asthma attack, you're my air and I loathe you
I want to suffocate but I can't keep suffering like this
I NEED AIR.
REAL AIR.
NOT THIS HELL.

I want to breathe air.
I don't want to breathe you.
I want to dream dreams,
Not nightmares.

You have total grasp of my mind
And you don't even know.

A best-friend before my lover,
A calm before the storm,
Faithful before Faithless,
Painless before painful.

The comfort in monotony comes when she doesn't stop loving you.
When your nights are always blessed by the same phrase of affection.
"Dream sweet."
Every night you speak,
I dream sweeter.
And to see her,
Her smile and hair and skin from hundreds away,
Makes me say,
"I love you."

Silently.

You can't delete this,
These moments are eternal.
In each others' arms.

Time passes slowly
Within your blessing presence,
The air becomes light.

Kissing your cheeks soft,
Long hair gently in my face,
Your bright eyes on me.

I wish nothing else
These endless nights of embrace,
Patches on my soul.

And walked to the window, the morning breeze felt nice.
It was early but he didn't want to check how early because his brain would trick his body into more sleep.
Throwing on some clothes, he checked his phone making sure not to look at the time (even though he was kinda sure it said 6-something),
There was a message from his true-love.
"Good Morning **** ;)"
Jesus how early does she wake up?
"Good morning, love. I'm going for a run. The weather's great."

And so he did. And made tea when he got back.

I have delayed writing about you
Because I know that if I do
I will develop feelings for you.

Its not that feelings are that bad
Just that they can't be taken back,
And that thought drives me mad.

But as I sit here avoiding the write,
My true feelings have come into light
And I have found that what I want is for us to be right.

I feel like such a fool
Laughing this hard, smiling this hard, not keeping my cool,
My mask fades when we speak and so do my tools.

Strawberry blonde...
It makes me giddy how I am fond
Of that description, particularly when you respond.

In your presence, I don't manipulate,
I can only manage to speak straight,
My ego you sedate-
Take what I have to say with weight.

First love.
First lust.

Devotion.
Dedication.

Fate.
Faith.

Screams.
Scars.

Done­.
Dozing.

No sleep can wash this away,
No soap can clean,
No run can sweat this away,
No restored sheen.

Like a scarecrow he stands there,
His legs bow backwards,
Only a tad,
And he ponders what the air would taste like,
If we could all sing the song of rising suns,
But in the corner of his bloodshot eyes,
One bead of blue forms,
And it ran down his cheek,
Onto his arm and off it,
To land on his black jeans,
Whose threads were so tight his feet felt fuzzy,
But he did not care,
This was the pair,
She kissed him with.

The salty ocean air bit his ears.
He went inside.
And slept.

*It’s just not fair.

"I'm in love with broken.

The weak, the powerless,
Seizable.

I want to help.
          Not them, myself.

"Usage,"
A verb.
A synonym for life.
An alias for Marshall.
_________________
Spa­rked by a girl I was eyeing at the Vanguard performance. She was beautiful with pale skin and dark hair.
Her thigh gap was as large as possible.
Aside from the Jews in the Holocaust, she was one of the skinniest people I've seen.

God. What the hell.
Why must they all be broken?"

Are you determined or terminated.

Will you push,
Will you shove.
Go in strong,
Come out soft.
Go in weak,
Come out free.

Will you push,
Will you shove.
Or will you pull,
Like the strongest.
Gods of men,
Men of children.
Blades of bats,
Books from trash.

Will you grow.
Will you go.
Like the strongest
*Gods of men.

“It’s okay,
You’re safe,
           Finally.”*
Thank god. I was beginning to worry.

Remedy my melody,
It's broken,
Out of tune,
Off tempo.

Wake me up,
I'm sleeping,
Catatonic,
Don't see me.

Entertain me,
Satisfy me,
Deny me,
My love.

Don't trust
My Lust.

Then the spice must flow.

I worship the Sun.
His rays. His warmth. His life.
I wear Him on my chest. I wear Him in my mind.
Incandescent, luminescent, aught to behold.
Luxurious protection. Numerarious gifts.
Solis Maximus. White gold.
     ☼
The knight fears no night.
The Sun will guide me.
Walk with no shadow.
Walk with light to see.
     ☼
I am His solace.
And He is my life.
We are together.
We enforce the light.
     ☼
My strong armor rings.
When I stand with Him.
My sword’s golden gleam.
When His power wins.
     ☼
Honey of the air.
Father to all life.
Lead me through darkness.
Banish this night!
     ☼

"No."
"Um."
"Maybe."
"I'll see."
"Wrong."
"Another time."
"Don't."
"Shut up."
"Just- ugh."

Women.

Sometimes I wonder if in my old age,
I will be remembering these nights.

Not the nights I cry, nor the nights I smile.
The nights where I stare. Melancholy.

The nights where Faith had ****** my memories.
The nights where Katriana had dashed my hopes.
And the nights where Jami gave me reason to not blow my brains out.

But not really. They all just, they are memories.
Except maybe Jami, she might be a thing.

But the pain I feel is not a memory.
It's right here, still burning.

And I don't know what to do, except, just. Force myself to breathe.
Force myself to keep pumping blood.
Force myself to remember that people aren't intrinsically bad.

They just, **** up and love somebody else and **** up at that too.
And **** me. **** me for having these thoughts.
Who was I to enter these women's lives. A poser. A stalker.
A creep.

To Tyler,

My bestest friend of all these years of developing youth and developing adult,
I will you my rifle. Produced under scrutiny, post-war, blued by Chinese furnaces and inspected by communist advisers. I assign this to you my friend in hope that you will recognize more in this object than its role in my suicide. Guns are not the enemy, only the tool. The tool of my execution carried out by the enemy, Our world. And Our society. And Our suffering.

This rifle, my prize. Is accurate. And powerful. And a threat to 5 lives at a time. A symbol of my free will, dissolved into the blood stains and skull fragments laced on its finely carved wooden stock.

In my life, I had loaned to you this talisman of my depression,
But now, in the wake of my death, you will see the weight of my previous actions. My prolonging of life and effort to resolve the suffering and dread I endure.

Tyler. *******. T-Swens. Sweeny Todd. Squidward. Twizzler. Squib.
Many names you have been known by myself and our peers, but erasing human choice and force, you have been known to me and my soul as a Savior of myself for far too long. You have been Beacon for my hope, Home to my catharsis, Shelter to my heart and Medic to my wounds. I love you as most one person can love another without supporting the same roof with the pillars of our spines. I love you as a brother and friend and father and son and twin soul and caring teacher and patient keeper. We are two peas as they say. We finish each other's thoughts. We read the same material and play the same games and breathe the same circles and eat the same vocabulary and sneeze the same curses.

Like two strings of ivy, supporting one another as they grow and twirl. We fight each other in attempts to suffocate our foefriend, at the same time as relying on our friendfoe for the support to grow higher and steal more light. I love you my ivy brother. And I apologize for everything.

Please do not take my death too hard. Mourn and grieve and move on. I was not a cinder block for your foundation. I was a twin building. Of sister architecture and of sister glasswork. We stood for not one score before my sore soul was stole by this full world. You will stand further. And I admire you for it, as much as I pity you for having to endure this slow acid rain and littering of broken cans and smoke rings.

Rest in peace for me, because there is no rest in death, you know this.

- Marshall. Jackledead. Pompous and loud ******* and drama queen. Forever friend.

Somebody sleeps in my bed alone.
I watch his lungs rise and fall as he rests.
I can hear his heartbeat tighten as he dreams terrible dreams.
I can see his hands clasp tightly when he thinks of his situation.
His legs move constantly, restless, because his thoughts are the same.

He wakes up every morning and hates.
He opens his eyes to terrible noises, and stares.
Why can't I sleep forever, thinking out loud. I can hear him.
Why can't I awake to her eyes and smile and hips like we dreamed?
He gets up. He touches his clock. It dies. He was statically charged. Again.

The water doesn't help. Or the soap.
His pity attempt to clean his long, tangled hair.
His half-awake thoughts while staring at the white walls.
He's thinking of women. And sleeping. And sleeping with them.
Or rather, he's thinking of her. Sometimes it's his "lover," sometimes it's his regret.

More sleep. Clothes.
A suit today, he wanted compliments.
A briefcase. **** I look snazzy. He smiles in the mirror.
Your perfect smile is fading. He interjects as if only to sting before leaving.
I watch him trudge out the door only to start freezing. But he's already frozen.

Thoughtlessly driving. No seat-belt.
At least I'll die in my funeral outfit if I do.
He arrives, throwing on a fake smile for the eyes around him.
Music. Mind numbing practice with his golden instrument's sound.
I watch him sit there, stretching his legs, listening with awakened ears.

"Why are you dressed up."
"Because." "Because why?" "Because I am."
Most people would quit there, but there must be a reason.
They keep pressing him. He gets annoyed, but not yet frustrated.
He smiles and answers their questions dishonestly. He always does.

A fake smile for everyone.
It would be so much easier to live this life,
If I could stop thinking of her. But I can't. And won't.
We spoke. We made new words, but no new promises.
Promises always hurt. Even when they're followed through.

He opens his phone.
Browsing for that photo of her.
New, in a sense, though it is still old her.
So young. So bold. So sad. So beautiful. Wanted.
Why won't she talk to me. She said we wouldn't do this!

"The oak and the cypress,
Do not grow in each-others' shade."
I know, old man, but when my tree thrives in darkness,
Why can it not find a properly emitting source, especially from her.
She was so close. She was my waking spark. And now she won't even...

The oak and the cypress.
Staring into different corners of the forest.
Still only feet apart.

We cannot measure the nights we have,
Until they're all up,
Each beat of heart could be your last,
And fade you into dust.

So why do we fret over the smallest bauble,
And fight about it all,
Why close our ears when pain is audible,
Not answering the call.

From ashes to ashes we all circulate,
And search for meaning,
This sense of dread we can all relate,
We all have this needing.

So fight nought with your brother,
We are the same flesh,
Embrace the sameness of each other,
Embrace this human mesh.

She never sees what I see, in that mirror,
She never sees what the world sees,
She never cares about what we say,
Understand how we see you,
                please.

After the snapshots of North Carolina,
And the explanation of parasitic brainwashing,
I found the section on beef.

I found the young man, a photographer,
Whom had moved into an apartment with a girl
And her yellow shorts.

A barbeque, a welcoming party.

And my innocent blood froze when I saw
That gray dress with polka dots
And those legs from underneath it,
And the short-cut, red-brown hair,
Pale skin and back-of-the-neck
Of the woman whom I conceded my faith
My will, my being,
And my hand.

I closed the magazine and walked away,
Stunted.

I'd push your daisy.

*wink wink

She twitches,
I assume out of subconscious fears,
When she's falling close to sleep.

I realize now
The full efforts of what she's been trying to tell me
She is honestly
Struggling.

But that single day was near perfect,
And she kissed me more than she had in over a week,
But not once on my mouth.

What use is it to satisfy what your desire
If you actually don't.

And leave my thoughts disoriented by the fact that
He exists.

Last night,
Home,
I was searching for my peace,
That peace was your presence until he interjected
And I swear it will be this way until
You find some closure.

And by god,
I hope it is not I whom you sever.