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I'm always working to deadlines;

My doctor happily announces my due date, the twelfth,
I puff my cheeks out
spread my arms to form a bridge, winged across the womb
digging my fingers into whatever crevasse I find,
when she screams so hard the fluid around me quivers into feathers tickling me into submission
I dig a little deeper, I go the extra mile and I come out on top:
I was two weeks late.

My year ten English teacher told me that if I didn't hand my essay in on time I'd forever be a failure,
so I spent hours exploring and writing the intricacies of the damage deadlines have on a young person
and then set fire to the paper in-front of her face,
when she screams so hard that the burning halo from my hand sizzles into a freezing stone
I dig a little deeper, I go the extra mile and I come out on top:
Now I'm working in MacDonald's and she's dead.

My boss tells me I have five minutes to get my stuff and get out,
so I make it my personal mission to scale the walls of that place with my feet,
using burger baps for plungers I scale the ceiling like Spiderman
and ask all the customers if they would like spit with their fries,
when he screams so hard that a frying pan hole opens up below me sweating me for flavour
I dig a little deeper, I go the extra mile and I come out on top:
I'm in prison now.

I'm still working to deadlines.