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