chasing the headless chicken

There’s a headless chicken out there somewhere
containing what’s left of my mind
while it’s body runs around with all the energy
of my restless spirit

I have the terrible feeling that time is just a bomb
and I’ve become a terrorist to my own life
counting down the seconds and sunrises
until the insides of my eyes explode with the exertion
of looking but never seeing the breath particles that float
right in front of my face

And I’m sure death wears stilettos
caressing me with one hand before kicking me in the face
with shoes I’d kill to own and am dying to see
because my heart beat has become a sickness
to the racing pace of life and with every panicked moment
I’m surely dying a breath and a half at a time
chasing a dream I have to be alive to meet

I’ve never been one to just jump right in
to life’s delights
when self-destruction has been more beautiful
than the masturbation of self-improvement
despite every white room I locked myself into
every time I heard the clack of stilettos
on the tobacco-spit pavement

There’s a headless chicken out there somewhere
containing what’s left of my mind
while it’s body runs around with all the energy
of my restless spirit

And the only thing I've learnt
is that I've learnt nothing at all
I’m still running around wondering my heart’s trying to beat
at the speed of light
hoping it won’t kill me with a premature heart attack
as though the time bomb tick of urgency
to fulfil some vague notion of destiny
can be fast-tracked with the slow death of stress

© Indie Adams 2013