A Lament

Breaking up in tiny rooms
Suckling on the teat of space
In lucid fields I’ve come to pass
In the bottle I do see his face
Mother, have we come to terms
When our insides become unlaced
Knowing that it’ll come to this
The absolute nothing black of space
Bloody trips in all the world
Walled up here like there’s a race
Do walls mean we have mottled hearts?
Our will continues on the rays
Planets always moving out
Spreading at a steady pace
Spinoza, I’m sorry, when fission stands
There won’t be god, just blacker space