Wandering Sprite

It's a disaster. I just realised, I got lost 23 thousand years ago. I thought I was on to the right way, but it clear I'm not. I have lost a way and can't think of where to trace my steps back to. What to do when one is lost but make a new start of things, to put ones nose to their tailbone and make circles. We have tried that before, but got drunk and drove, lost ten thousand miles between here and there making all familiarity a memory of redundancy; a place I can't get back to and don't remember navigating away from. I have been lost a long time. I began to realise who I was, then changed the rules of the game. I went zombie hunting and got bit. Now I'm back and forgot where I went. Who has been performing these costume changes on the other side of this mirror? Oh God I wish you existed. Maybe then I'd find some sense, some naivety to guide me to somewhere I won't forget upon and blink and stumble. I have come far without knowing how to read the mile markers and signs directing me from nameless town to town. I have spent too much time imagining the next place to travel to, only to fail to get there. I have become a sad creature, so blue and sleepy. Your hope is gone, your contentment is stretched, and there's little left but a small ball of anger and frustration. It knocks against the wall growing small black hairs. It's rough and brittle with swollen veins and achy joints. You want to be loved and seen, but the eyes never come, the reach is never extended and your hope continues to moan in pain, wail with discomfort, lament its woes whilst cradling its emaciated frame, scratching at bones separated from bitter air by paper thin skin, now lose and translucent, the blood flowing through it watery and full of broken moons. You are sad because hope is dying. You can't change without nursing hope. You have sucked in all the pain around you until you can no more. You have maxed out your lungs and lost the ability to breathe. So many people need your breath now, but it's gone. You're scared and empty, full of despair, unable to act, to be what goodness you once knew. You can't let go of the pain you hold yourself responsible for, for to let it go would be to create so much more. You don't know what's right and how much longer your legs will hold out. Oh God come help me. Take me and my hope elsewhere to be happy.