Scenes from a still life accident

Still here, still breathing. I'm riding the crazy rollercoaster of life, celebrating fireworks and friendships. a lot of stuff has gone down the past 2 weeks, and I am trying to decompress, to sift through the going-ons and the drama to find out reality.

It is not often that my life resembles Rashomon, but currently I wish I were a private eye, the omniscient narrator. I wish someone knew what was going on, and that there weren't huge gaps in the b-roll.

All the things I don't know about this situation, and all the potentially explosive ways we can go off. The heartshells lining the beach under a wide canopy of stars and other hopes. For you, they fade.

Watching you disjointed dis-spirited disappearing dilating between the here and the never
I fought to not lead a scorched earth campaign
with your heartshell so open
humpty's crema pouring across the page.

and there is nothing but the foundation of this bed and house
because it could, it was me. It was she. And precious few truths sprinkled
Across layers of limned lies like sediment.
What lies beneath so fungible and base. The wanting to tell
is weighing on my mind. she speaks and planes fall.

THe junkyard of emotion categorizes better than your eyes, welling
spinning telling vacancies of the soul

[Ok, I realize this is not very good. indeed is crap. but does say something about that week, so I am leaving it up for now.]