CouldaShoulda

She sits on a stool in the middle of a yesterday room eyes squeezed shut as her phantoms circle ‘round circle ‘round 'n 'round their hollowed voices chant an endless why? why did you…? whydidyou?? mantra|mantra_ing from all that hard mined deep time from days long-ago-past yet-not those never-really-past days of ago. their discordant chords siphoned from yesterdays' poor performance those depths of times behind her, yet-not, those never-really-locked loosely keyed doors from all that of the 'whatever' she stuffed behind closed doors. Her eyes with dead-ended sight fused shut for she cannot force them open for she cannot bear to see the tragic sweet lives randomly pieced apart strewn crazily at her feet… all that of all the what of those shoulda-beens all that what-coulda-shoulda-mighta-been but wasn't.