A black hole spins in the corner,
guzzling socks and stray thoughts.
Galaxies tumble dry,
constellations cling to damp denim.
Outside, the streetlights hum cosmic lullabies.
I fold my t-shirts and wonder—
who is pressing ‘start’ on all of this?
A black hole spins in the corner,
guzzling socks and stray thoughts.
Galaxies tumble dry,
constellations cling to damp denim.
Outside, the streetlights hum cosmic lullabies.
I fold my t-shirts and wonder—
who is pressing ‘start’ on all of this?