kiss my gentle burning bruise
John Steinbeck, Tortilla Flat
(via wishbzne)
(via femmefuckup)
Braldt Bralds, 1983
(via angeldreamdoll)
(via cheristella)
the moss of his skin, anne sexton
Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram
we are lost in familiar places
among unfamiliar faces
tell me, before you let out a sigh
how do we end up waking up
from one dream to sleep in yet another dream?
you finally let out that sigh
we are lost in unfamiliar places
among the dazed familiar faces
do i know you?
we turn into each other’s familiar reflections
in each other’s unfamiliar eyes
we let out a laugh in this commonplace
strangers on a park bench // @misplacednotes