In the end we were hollow like the bones of brittle sea birds strewn across the shore salt sea pillars lurching toward a dawn that never comes a gate of ivory a gate of harm gateways of perception a window to the soul looking into the same empty room filled with imagined comforts each more distracting than the last each devoid of meaning devoid of purpose crawling dunes of silt and ash and bits of bone pretending that's enough to justify ongoing existence pretending that it all means something but in the end we all die alone hollow like the bones of brittle sea birds

Item

Title
In the end we were hollow like the bones of brittle sea birds strewn across the shore salt sea pillars lurching toward a dawn that never comes a gate of ivory a gate of harm gateways of perception a window to the soul looking into the same empty room filled with imagined comforts each more distracting than the last each devoid of meaning devoid of purpose crawling dunes of silt and ash and bits of bone pretending that's enough to justify ongoing existence pretending that it all means something but in the end we all die alone hollow like the bones of brittle sea birds
Medium
Blood, charcoal
Description
Color image, close up image of an eye rolled to be looking upward
Prison
Central Michigan Correctional Facility
Identifier
DPEA_MINI_0039

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Items with "Artwork: In the end we were hollow like the bones of brittle sea birds strewn across the shore salt sea pillars lurching toward a dawn that never comes a gate of ivory a gate of harm gateways of perception a window to the soul looking into the same empty room filled with imagined comforts each more distracting than the last each devoid of meaning devoid of purpose crawling dunes of silt and ash and bits of bone pretending that's enough to justify ongoing existence pretending that it all means something but in the end we all die alone hollow like the bones of brittle sea birds"
Title Class
In the end we were hollow like the bones of brittle sea birds strewn across the shore salt sea pillars lurching toward a dawn that never comes a gate of ivory a gate of harm gateways of perception a window to the soul looking into the same empty room filled with imagined comforts each more distracting than the last each devoid of meaning devoid of purpose crawling dunes of silt and ash and bits of bone pretending that's enough to justify ongoing existence pretending that it all means something but in the end we all die alone hollow like the bones of brittle sea birds