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Every time I wrote of you, it drained my pool,
My pens are dry, But my hand keeps moving,
It’s strange seeing you laughing, smiling, living,
Brings me so much joy I forget to breathe, speak or walk,
I am stricken by your beauty.

-May 34th 2013. (June 3rd)
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.
Cathryn, with the softest lips.
I hope you don't know my secret.

I'm actually a monster.
In the guise of a boy with long hair.

Beneath my jacket of skin, scales coat my body.
Beneath my mask, I have a face of teeth and tentacles,
A beak made for chomping, and eyes glazed black.
I have webbed wings on my true back, but you can't see that.

My toes are made of bone, and just as dry.
If my instincts kick in, I can run faster than any man,
Hit ten times as hard, and **** in the blink of an eye.
I am no man. I am a monster.

A monster with one goal; protect you.
Decadence,
Indulgence,
Celebration,
Euphoria.

Desolation,
Emptin­ess,
Forsakenness,
Pain.
July 11th 2013
Like metal is malleable,
            So are the seasons,
Heating, Bending, Contracting,
            So consistently.
    But my heart is not a four season.
It stays         summer        for you.
I saw her eyes echo it,
The sunset on the ocean.
I saw the length of her whole being,
I saw the effort in her motion.

We saw that sliver of red light,
Sitting on the rainbow ocean.
I saw your silhouette,
Against the painting of emotion.
Take these swift lights
Take them like cars passing
And trucks with their chains in the night.
Take these lights with you.
These sounds, they're nothing.

The light of existence has been forever brightened by you.
In a way that can't be taken by long nights
And longing sounds.

A life without eyes-
Would be brightened by what you have brought to me.
All my shirts have bloodstains,
I don’t suppose that’s good.
At night I’d never kneel and pray,
But I applaud people who do.

To write nowdays takes effort,
An effort I don’t have.
Nothing in my life romanticizes,
My pen goes through collapse.

It’s rare for me to produce a thing,
For things require production.
I will sit and stare and waste my days,
I fret over my diction.

My poems are fading.
My life is not.
A snake can squirm all he wants, but he will never be freed until he strikes.
I'm screaming.
My glottis has stopped the air form moving, but trust me,
It's there.
With pressure.

My eyes are about to pop out.
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.
Cross wires
And whine
Nothing is easy enough.

Content here
With my coffee
My biscuit
And my cream,
By the sea.
When the four horses pull at my mind,
I know you’ll be there,

When the walls of my palace crash down,
I know you’ll be with me,

I want you with me,
And when the night falls,
When all lights fail,
Through it all,

You’ll be there.

-July 1st 2013
Do I have to conquer this demon inside me?
Or can I let him flourish?

Do I have to restrict my god given right of self pleasure,
For the benefit of us both?

I want to let him roar, stroke his mane and feed him.

But his stomach will sit empty for now.
Libido.
A hard iron ball,
Being pounded with hammers.
It heats, it stretches, it breaks.
The iron ball shattered, torn.

My love is like an iron ball,
Not much fun to receive.
Insignificant, unusable,
and Hard.

Put it on your desk.
It might have a purpose in the future.
I got some therapy.
I'm broken but I could not be.
I'm working on it.
If they ask how you are they really do care.
I see you.
I gasp.

Perfection comes in the form of steel blue eyes and a Mona Lisa smile.
Merely the sight of you wipes my mind.
I know your voice, inside and out.
I know your lips, your taste, your laugh, how you tilt your head.

But your heart confuses me.
Sometimes it hurts me, sometimes I hurt it.
But it gave me the most joy. More than I could imagine.
It patched and healed the holes in my chest.
Gave me a new place to rest.


I beg,
Don’t go away forever.
You are my perfection.
I can't stop thinking of her.
My savior has come,
Beneath the guise of a girl,
Soul so soft and pure.

Blonde, brown, red, black hair,
Constantly shifting her head,
Left eyebrow terraced.

What’s the point of life,
If you are not beside me,
But only inside.

My ears need music,
That symphony in your voice,
Those tones I adore.

-July 1st 2013
"I love you."
"Thanks."
"I care about you."
"Thanks."
"I want to let you know I try my hardest not to hurt you but still keep us good."
"Thanks."*

Fine. Well enough alone, I see.
Today I'm thankful
For those who pushed me
Those who provoked me
Those who forced me
To write.
Cry me a river,
Build a bridge,
Tie a cinder block to your legs,
Throw it off that bridge,
And drown in your sorrow.
If I see the bottom, I see the top.
I speak loudest when I'm silent.
I sleep best when I'm awake.
I'm only flying when  I'm on the ground.

I only get this way when there's a glimmer of hope.
I want a friend.
"No."
"Um."
"Maybe."
"I'll see."
"Wrong."
"Another time."
"Don't."
"Shut up."
"Just- ugh."

Women.
Hey.
I have a question.

*Go for it!
My stomach.
Ack!




MY STOMACH!
ACH.
He walks with no extraordinary gait,
No abnormal actions,
No external signs.

His steps sound human.
They are.

His voice sounds human.
It is.

So why does he hate himself.
Why do the charred hands within his chest scratch at the clay doll he calls a heart.
Why does he pick away at the chipping layer of lies and truths and in-betweens which coat his insides with a yellow paint.
Why does he pressure the unpressurable.
Why does he push every boundary but one.
Why is he the bad guy.

Why is his hero absent.
Where is he.
The Good Guy
He stands there against the silhouette of orange glow.

Hammering steel, sweating.
Hands aching slightly more each time.
"Fuerte."

He retires from his workshop.
*Duerme, "Fuerte," duerme.
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.
I turn my head left first,
Instead of right,
When I leave my apartment.

To see if you're there.
The eye,
Large as life,
    up close,
        immediate,
            expanding,
Fibers of green, hazel, brown,
Stretched from the dilated pupil.

It was there,
Above me,
    stalking,
        watching,
            reminding,
My bad omen was above me,
And it burned with intensity.

The eye,
Mark of pain,
    screaming,
        midnight,
            sorrow,
Never again will I see that eye,
Never again will I hold close.

-June 8th 2013
“You can’t fight forever, the unfightable,”

I can, I will, I am.
I will fight till my knuckles bleed, my muscles scream, my body pleads, then,

I will keep going.

I will fight the dirt dumped into my grave, the sheets of my deathbed, the glances from all four horsemen.

I will fight.
*Till I have her.
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.
An 18th century vampire? Enchanté, madame. Vos yeux sont magnifiques.
When you come near, I can’t disappear into my mind,
When it’s so clear, I can see what you were trying to find,

I’m so done.
I guess nobody won.

‘Cause hours like these, come with dead flowers around,
And towers like these, always come showering down,

I can’t pretend.
That wasn’t the end.

Some parts of me, come with holes- for you to see,
Some parts of me, parts of my soul- have holes that bleed,

The good parts of me, can fold and come undone,
You versus me, I guess nobody won.

                ~Marshall Hiatt, 11:25 PM, 11-13-13.
From my idea book on a cold night.
It has a rhythm
.
(period)

I hate that word
It, I hate
Vowels,
None.

Rhythm
Doesn't have itself.
Ameta.
Arhthmia.
Abeneficiary.
Maleficiary, actually.
Sinrhythmia.
Sinrhymia.
Sin
Los reglas.
Measure thing by the size of your thought, not
An inch.
Or centimeter.
I prefer the brits.
But not the hippies
I am one.
we are all one.
One with

A-god.

Not "a" god.
A-god.
As in.
Athea.
Without-thea.

God doesn't wear a suit.
Why should we.
*Cause I look ******* fiiiiiine.
I was wrong.
Your eyes are not blue moons,
Not because
    they are not blue,
Nor is it because
    they are not moons.
But it is because I have never seen two moons,
And neither of both I have not seen are blue.


But I have seen the moon.
It is gorgeous.
You are gorgeous.

The moon’s surface is white, pure white,
Your surface is very much similar.

The moon’s face is surrounded with pitch black,
Your face is too, although there is some dyed red.

The moon’s surface has craters,
From when the universe wasn’t so kind.
I know you have those too,
But they are lines, not seas. Red and pink, not gray.

The moon can’t cry, nor can it show affection.
For that reason, amidst infinite others, you are perfect.
The moon is not,
But it can remind me of you.

And I am grateful for that.
The moon and you.
~

She believes that I loved her for her pretty face, that my flattery was for her body.
No.
She holds more than most people on this planet could comprehend.
She is more than any eye can see alone.
There's a reason her smile is so beautiful, she's seen the worst side of life.

I want to listen to her. Even when she chooses not to speak to me.
There's a body on a table in a morgue.
That's all.
It’ll be a miracle when we can finally,
Be.
It’ll be a miracle if the world can finally,
See.

Breathe...
Why did you leave?

Spending nights alone in my bed,
Letting the monsters run around my head,
I can’t regret how much I spent,
I won’t take back how much I said,

You’re perfect to me...
Why did you leave?

I lost you like a bead from a bag,
Every word I mumbled just felt gagged,
Every night was just plain bad,
Everything I ate made me feel fat,

But you’re back,
And for that,

*I’m grateful.
Pinpricks. All over my body,
A topic undiscussable,
My cheeks like fireworks,
My arms like flame,
My heart like mud.
I’m sorry Flaxen Maid,
Not even this Sherlock,
    Can solve you.
It's because my head is messed up.
15w
There's a twitch on my top lip,
It's a little to the right.
It's being caused by a torturous,
Distasteful sight.

My heart's beating faster,
It doesn't know what to think.
What the **** is this,
Why didn't I see.

I'm going to explode in a thousand little pieces,
Not one of them will be Marshall.
I cannot play this game again, this tango, this grind, this pain, this mistake, this step too forward, this ache, this.
****.
And when I can hear a gasp, a deeper breath with my lips on her chest,
And I can tell that she wants the next one to be a longer hold.

My heart beats faster, my muscles strengthen, I breath less,
Lip more.
Ambrosia.
I long for that cold, blued steel against my skin as I anticipate the end.
I could easily take my life.
In the corner rests my rifle and cartridges.

I don't know why I don't do it.
I don't like living and I don't appreciate my days.
Joyless. No afterlife. Nothing.
So why don't I just
*Tie this knot.
These cloudy nights I'm grateful
For how I cannot see you,
The way the water blocks your eyes
And makes my heart less see-through.

One year ago we made a choice
How fateful that weekend was,
By chance insomniatic texts
Lead to a night sin lust.

My car, coffee, a couch, so free,
I could spend days remembering,
My love for you had expanded
And beauty lead to simile.

"Your eyes are like the brightest stars."

And so began a life of soil
As I can only look down.
Not up, above, at those lights
For if I do I frown.

I recall your use of words
Beating around the bush,
Eventually you came to terms
And "I L you," came, pushed.

They say a prestige only works
If you can reappear.
I know you are not a magician
For nowhere are you near.

And since you left,
My heart feels cold
Whenever I look up.
I can't help but to wonder if
This will persist enough,
To drag onto my oldest days
How I had pushed my luck.
San Diego.
There's an echo that can be heard,
When the sun's blue sky is rising,
It most definitely sounds like a bird,
But what else you can hear is surprising.
Ears.

I hear a hum from a girl of long past,
Her perky lips saying there's flowers,
The air around her is sweet, her heart fast,
She admires the plants, they look like towers.
Child.

I hear a lover's tears as she hears her life end,
I can hear her texts back and fourth through the web,
She reads "No more, none of this, you aren't my girlfriend,"
So sad. Too bad. That's life. The flow and ebb.
Bliss.

I can hear a stomach growl and another missed a meal,
She never eats. When she does, it's reversed.
This secret of hers is dark and scattered, she may never heal,
I hear her fake the sounds of eating, I hear fake her thirst.
Hide.

I hear another poem written,
About someone who cuts,
She thinks it will help her fit in,
But she's only losing trust.
Red.

I hear a father sobbing upstairs,
His daughter has run away.
He knew she was having affairs,
He knew it would come to this day.
Behind.

I hear regrets being made,
I hear the lies they whisper,
I hear both of them say
Our love will never wither.
Liars.

I hear
the ignorance.
The smell of my mother
was
Cigarette smoke of cigs targeted towards independent women
was
Perfume of a woman too old to accept the fact that she's aging
was
Clothes from the early 90s and mid 80s which all smelled the same
was
Skin which smelled yellow from her habits
was
Breath which smelled the same
was
Red lipstick
was
Hair dye
was
Lies.
Not many see the lightning which arises,
It comes when she tilts her head just right,
The sun enters her stormy blue eyes,
And lays an egg soon to explode in a streak of light.

She was my new cloud, my new nimbus,
Before I even knew what was happening, I flew,
I sailed under a new mast, never doubting,
My body was so used to pain, this was new.

Could love exist without ache?
Could a vampire thrive without the stake?
Could hearts pump without any death?
Could lungs breathe without stolen breath.

-I don’t know when. (Before December 15th but after the 12th)
The storm gone by. Goodbye, storm.
I see this world
Of Marshall with his clean face
And white shirts,
Tattoos
BLEEDING through his sleeves
Blue and green and black.

Staring into his face,
Eyes becoming the expansive world-
In the mirror.

Bleeding razor on the sink,
Steaming water rising upward,
Still-

Marshall STARING into his expansive eyes,
Obliterating reality around him,
Slicing and cutting and tearing apart all surroundings.
Focussing on the star stuff within him.

Kim, the Sun, the warmth of each day,
The clean razor face and lotion-massaged skin,
The golden, gleaming colors of life.

Marshall staring at all of this,
Upon his sink-mirror.
“It’s okay,
You’re safe,
           Finally.”*
Thank god. I was beginning to worry.
My teacher once said
That protagonists of novels
Are teenagers in a sense.
Commonly.

These characters are new to life,
But not brand new.
They take chances that wisers
Might not.

They steal things,
Have ***,
Feel hope.
Adults do not.

We all want to read about teenagers
Because teenagers remind us
That life can have a bright outcome
If your teen years set it up properly.

We throw our lives away,
Then spend the rest of it
Reading novels
*Wishing that we didn't.
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