Lost

Prose

I was at Starbucks as I composed this yesterday and I don't even know from where it was all coming. There was a picture on Facebook with a quote of, "It was good for a while, being empty. I didn't hurt anymore. But as time went on, it was like I could hear myself from far away, begging for permission to come back." This inspired the following prose and the words just started flowing.

Where did I go?
I've sent myself far away and have forbade myself from returning.
"Go, you're not wanted here. Don't ever come back."
I left and in my place is this, this thing. Taking over and wearing my appearance like an outfit that doesn't quite fit.
But I didn't put up a fight... Or maybe I did?
Maybe the pangs and lightheadedness are my strikes against this monster in my head.
Or maybe not.
After all, I welcome these sensations and indulge in them like a guilty pleasure. A midnight snack free of calories.
Full of shame.
I wander around, clearly lost but not alone. This symbiotic parasite burrowed deep in my thoughts is great company, warning me of the many dangers which lay before me as trees would line a forest.
Tall and sturdy.
... I'm not lost in life. I'm not spiritually lost. But I am lost. Somewhere deep inside myself, I am lost.