C R A S H

My wheels on my train of thought screeches to a halt.
Ideas, both good and bad, collide into one another and all is confusion.
Nothing can be rescued.
My mind freezes and backs off, unwilling to venture forth.
Silent cymbals announce a world of turmoil, a division between the familiar and unknown.
A time of relearning and new thinking.
Change is smelt in the
air in the smouldering embers of the dying train.

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