A Black Cloud
It follows me wherever I go. It doesn't come from the sky but instead hovers about me, rolls about in my mind. The beautiful rain, the quiet snow, the blue, grey, or black overhead have no effect on its presence. Woven from a single phrase - devoid of care - it is wrought about my being. Sometimes it constricts, like thorny vines, cutting me if I move. Othertimes it is a haze, like a malignant fog blurring my sight. Now it is a swamp, dreary, sapping my desire to move, to perform, to live, to... enjoy. All this fashioned from a single phrase, not even enough to call a sentence. Its power, surprising and unjust.