I’m writing to you from the heart of L.A.
Because my healing process
Just isn’t going the way
I imagined.
I’m having trouble, you see,
With shedding this body, of me,
Because I can still see the imprints of your kisses
And feel the soft dance of your fingertips
Across my skin.
I try to do anything random
To make me happy;
Driving through neighborhoods in Rosemead,
Having my chakras aligned at a random sound bath therapy,
Driving to Long Beach just to write by the sea,
Picking lemons and oranges from the citrus trees
Within my favorite park,
Because when I pour their juices over my broken heart,
The sting brings a feeling, or a memory,
That only you could ignite in me after dark.
Everything I do, I do with the thought of you
And that’s strange for me to admit because
Even after all the California earthquakes you shifted
My grounds to,
And all the pink noise I try to drown thoughts of you out to;
Like driving late at night down Sunset and Vine
While my brother talks to me
About his favorite rapper’s documentary
But I’m only half listening
Because I’m too distracted
About what I’ve just learned about Van Gogh,
He only ever sold one painting in his lifetime
So you can imagine how emotional I get each time
I question why, why I do this
Why I try,
When nobody reads these melancholic thoughts of mine.
However throughout all of this,
There’s one thought that won’t run away from me;
It only talks about how much
I love you

M.H. John

never been one whO̲ contains much
faith in human race, but
now it's just about bo[ɑ]ttom-low
which reminds of a squa[ɑ]tting pose (bottom low)
sometimes, it's like I̲'m on a ride that goes
down the dark misanthro[ɑ]pic road
I̲'m not the driver, though
[but I guess I sort of chose the "vehicle" & keep staying in it]
and to descrI̲be humankI̲nd, I'd go
with the following cO̲[ɑ]mment: "inside a post
apo[ɑ]calypse truck that rolls mindlessly, like it's no
tommorow, down the dysto[ɑ]pic road"
sometimes, I'd li̲ke to be one in rose
tinted glasses, like some pretty lA̲ss dis—
—played in some fashion-oriented mA̲g piece
but the mind of mine's wired otherwise
but forget it, for rI̲ght now, I would like
to continue the dystopy theme fro[ʌ]m the prior lines
autocracy, AI̲, with both
on the rise, it's like into the dark we go
do you know why it's ca[ɔ]lled
"high classes"? 'cause an archetypal soul
belonging to a high class is all 'bout
self-indulgence, dough (power, high on power)
[since, according to Ted Kaczynski, the power process is the process of satisfying needs]
[having power in its different forms makes living humans delighted (high)]
[just like mood-elevating narcotics called "uppers"]
[what I imply with those lines is high social class[-es] is/are called "high" due to]
[its/their members being under the influence of their power acting as uppers for them]
and for the mass to throw down
the system, there's a lack of civil drive & know[ɑ]ledge, so
it seems like no way of sto[ɑ]pping those
two, except for legislation that prescribes
development, usage & spread limitations to[—]ward AI
[should be worldwide]
and (with regard to autocracy) an armed overthrow
by antiauthoritarian-minded folks
who, at some point, would pro[ɑ]b'ly grow
corrupted like wrong ones dethroned (dead end)
tragical, but at the same time it's kind of co[ɑ]mical
[the way humankind is throughout its history]
humankind is like an utter dolt
who keeps stepping on a frO̲nt end of a ****** ***
like a ****** getting her tyrant-minded clients croaked (****** ***)
but AI, which is obvi' gon' be utilized to exercise control
[in fact, that's already the case]
["RoskomNAZIor" with its **** "Oculus"]
or even have the might to exercise control
and autocracy itself are no[ɑ]t the sole
pro[ɑ]blems known; humanitarian plights provoked
by warfares (look at Africa); with enviro holes
kept being dug since Brit's industrial
[the "dig oneself in(to) a hole" expression]
revolution & the people number growth
someday, there'll be the time the globe
won't be the sentient species' lovesome home
but environment
is among stuff chI̲ng-corrupt jerks
that rU̲n or get
investment I̲ncome fro[ʌ]m firms
speciali̲zing in
fossil fuels gI̲ve not co[ɑ]ncern
toward, hence the climate change denI̲A̲l them
filthy rI̲ch schmucks support
[as if they don't have or aren't gonna have offsprings]
but there's always an abrupt turn
to take to end this f#cked world (sort of end)
I mean, do no[ɑ]t for—
—get about dA̲[ɛ]mn nuke bo[ɑ]mbs stored
both in the "eastern world" with authoritarian govs (madness)
[China; North Korea; Pakistan; India; Russia, with Belarus as its nuke base]
and in the "western world" with somewhat liberal ones (lesser evil)
[USA, with some NATO states as its nuke bases; France; UK; Israel]
what I imply's the sapiens kind
is doomed; even if the final chapter's not nigh
it's still just a matter of time
[doomed to be a dystopian civilization with: constant control & opression]
[by the powers that be; violent crimes, incl. warfares]
[starvation (in some regions); worsening environment]

In the crook of my sanity
sat this poor little me
bereft of reason
naught of gold
one with the concrete
so cold and bold
not for wisdom
never for hope
full of wishes
for food and cloth
if I beg, will it stop?
if I cry, will I drop-
if I jump, will it be better?
and I could laugh
and cry
and tell them I am
still, still stuck there
now, better at hiding
full of warmth
from my blood sweater
sewn from shame
and disappointment
it never gets better
it only gets quiet
and you drown in silence
and acceptance,
that fate is this
it is meant to be.

Can't sleep.
Bathroom.
Fill it up.
Bubble it up.
Get in.
Intrusive thought.

*

You'd be surprised.
Used to the purpose of cleaning
And pleasured times.

And I fantasize about suicide.
The sense of quietness and structure,
What most of us ambitions in life.

...

I grieve a love from a dream I had last night
I grieve a smile from a person I saw yesterday
I grieve a hug I let go a little bit earlier
I grieve a hand I didn't hold, afraid it goes away

Then it went, and now I grieve a love from a dream
I grieve harmonies we never sang
I grieve gazes from lost eyes,
Eyes that will never lock into each other's sights
I grieve stolen glances, brief smiles and deep looks

I grieve a love from a poem I never wrote
I grieve a song from a heart I never loved
I grieve a melody from a guitar I never played
I grieve a breeze from a wind I never felt

I grieve a silence from a noise I never heard
I grieve tears from moments I never lived
I grieve life from memories I never made
I grieve a love from a dream I never dreamt

Again,
And again.
A mind empty ,
Now full of dread.
Thoughts of confusion,
Moments in illusion.
Following an order
From strange intrusions.
My mind is chaotic
With harsh infusions.

Feelings they urge me,
With wrong solutions.

And so, it seems like an additional day
you’re back counting on misfortunes,
As when they named you spoiled,
that always made you feel so less important,
A foreigner everywhere in gatherings;
as your spoken words, feel imported,
You’ve felt like fallen wine, as all your
maturity blemished the floors—
A child grounded, by your countless flaws.

Dreadfully ascending out of your many
troubles, but you slip up on life’s stairs,
As all of those hypothetical elevating eyes;
sometimes bring you down, with people’s
awkward stares.

You’ve done your best, while
pretending like you never tire,
But sometimes you lose the grip to
that drive, like a worn-down tyre,
Still, you have to wear a heroic smile
as a part of your attire;
—and between having a part of will to
do any well, the world spins the notion
of it not being so, like a tyre.

You’re covering up a wave of hidden
emotions, in a couple ***** durags,
Articulating them, always feels too late,
—a poor clothing of words; in these due rags.

In truth, you feel like words
that sound the same, but with
two different meanings,
Your life is just this relentless,
finding out one remarkable meaning,
As your purpose is what you’ll look out
yourself...no I mean, In.