Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda

Shoulda, woulda, coulda, shoulda, woulda, coulda, shoulda...relentless chant of the train I am tied to, rushing, pacing, rattling in infinite circles inside my head, already dead to the world. Manic in it's chant. Save, go back, regret...gut-churning wave after wave. What kind of mother...coulda, shoulda...time machine...would, shoulda...you did this...coulda, woulda, shoulda...drowning me under waves of choking, smothering grief. No bridges built to protect the solitary passenger, through beating thickets, no nicely groomed tracks, and yet the bleeding blows and suffocating lungs are welcome, the pain is wanted, necessary. My fault...woulda, coulda...horror...shoulda, coulda...Wilder...woulda...my baby...shoulda...burning the coal energy from my heart until so weak it will one day slow to a creaking halt in a barren place, and I will be released.