Soledad

I had in my head the most powerful phrases and anecdotes to convince the world that I am getting screwed over.  In my head, it was just a pounding rhythm like rain across the hood of your car and the occasional thunder off in the distance and a brilliant flash of light.  It would have convinced you that I am getting screwed by the world.  And then as I began typing it, it seemed more like a cry for help than a persuasive argument.  It sounded like high pitched whines in a nursery with no melody, just bleeding ears and pain.  So I kept scratching the lines, picking the scabs of the paragraph and was left with a blank sheet.  Just a giant white box with nothing to fill it.  I thought to myself, well maybe then I am really not being screwed as much as I think.  Perhaps I just want to make sense of the little things with big explanations.  And then all I am left with is myself.  Solitude.