my soul is a tiny fetus playing musical chairs alone at night.

The musical fetus is the most sensitive of all creatures. Embracing him within your palms is much like handling a poached egg. One must be cautious not to break the yolk, for if he does, all life’s magic will pour out from the tiny thing’s mouth, like water from a collapsing damn. And if this ever were the story, man will crumble. He will suspect mortality and sadly, unfetter his faith into a ditch.

But what he will fail to recognize is that inside the ditch, there are crocodiles.