Part of 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
