Soul Groove

A channel worn down, into your bobbing skull.

Waves of vibrations send the brain into perpetual shock.

The mind, misunderstood.

 Soul residing in exhausted lungs,

Stretched to something unrecognizable

And frightening.

As they fill,

The breast will swell,

And the pivoting neck comes to a stop.

Then the breath is released,

The withering, pulsating lungs

Clench and fasten themselves tightly

Around their disentegrating stalks.

The soul escapes its long, narrow trench.

A channel worn down into your bobbing skull.

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