Her hips are the sun
Planets rotating around her axis
falling off into black holes
each time she loses Herself in those dark orbs
Those cursed humanoid black holes
That **** in her planets
Leaving nothing but a dying sun
But soon that is gone too
Leaving nothing but particles of stars
Thoughts never formed into words
But sung about
In other men's poetry
Creating worlds and words she spoke
That never existed in the first place
The Galaxy Woman
The myth that plays chords in men's delirious fantasies
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 1:46 AM UTC
Her hips are the sun
Planets rotating around her axis
falling off into black holes
each time she loses Herself in those dark orbs
Those cursed humanoid black holes
That **** in her planets
Leaving nothing but a dying sun
But soon that is gone too
Leaving nothing but particles of stars
Thoughts never formed into words
But sung about
In other men's poetry
Creating worlds and words she spoke
That never existed in the first place
The Galaxy Woman
The myth that plays chords in men's delirious fantasies
