slouching toward nirvana


sam. trans.
22. philly.
bryn mawr grad. bibliophile.
joker. smoker. midnight toker.

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I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
-Pablo Neruda

(Source: observando, via christopherevan)

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…and we drink our
coffee and pretend
not to look at
each other.
-Charles Bukowski

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via lets-start-a-riiott)

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