one's repeating self-diagnosis

when finding yourself on the brink of madness

it was not until afternoon

that she pondered the obscurity of

losing your train of thought

thinking aloud that

trains lie on tracks

so one would think

it could not be lost


it was then

she could taste realization

in the cobwebs of her speech

once again

diagnosing herself as

undoubtedly poetic


slightly mad

The End

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