Run wolf, run.
Discover paradise
Ivory fingers made of ice
Dip into the shadows
Pour out into their seed
Run wolf, run.
You’re still searching for the sun.
Nineteen. Scandinavian. Portland. "; nor could she gain on him, so great was his terror, nor could he leave her, so great was her madness."
Run wolf, run.
Discover paradise
Ivory fingers made of ice
Dip into the shadows
Pour out into their seed
Run wolf, run.
You’re still searching for the sun.
Reblogged from sunnyeyed
Bret Easton Ellis (via rabbitinthemoon)
(Source: these-bones)