Message in a Bottle
I fear I must be the bearer of bad news:
At times you haunt yourself -
You have become nothing more
Than the lungs choking on Mother Nature’s tears,
Than the body washed up on shore
Here’s the premise She pitched me:
You are only carrying the remains
Of who you believe you once were -
You are only sleeping with the seagulls
Who pick apart your bones as you lay to rest
And it’s your choice:
You are in the midst of either finding, or losing your mind
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