Rhythm and Beat Up

Hunger pains no longer stab at my gut but it still seems my mouth is open more than it's shut.
The frontal lobe I once owned has turned into a sponge that weighs heavy on my neck the more it gathers as it hunts.
I depend greatly on a spine that's hidden inside just to keep up with a head just about to bust.

But in reality the neck I rely on sits in my hands.
It's body weighs on my chest and my fingers take care of the rest.
It does what it can to keep time with my heart but we both miss the ride and crash played by my complimentary part.