You’ll Be Alright

One day you will be me but you will be better. Teachers expected you to excel but I’ll take time where they didn’t. I’ll put answers in your mouth, destroy relationships you start, make it impossible for you to work other places.

One day you’ll wonder why you worked for so little: cash, enjoyment, satisfaction. Why you let it be enough at the time, when it wasn’t enough at all, isn’t, yet you’re hammering at it like you’ve just discovered tools for the first time and you’re curious about them the way you once were sex, films, pizza. Now, pizza almost always bores you.

One day you’ll ignore mirrors the way I ignore them and you’ll think of me every time you do it, keeping your eyes on the tap or your fingers when you’re in bathrooms, buying clothes without trying them first even though your size is not a standard, fits all in every shop one.

One day you’ll be me, but better. The recipe improved by TV chefs in two hundred years, ready in seconds. Someone else’s skin. False eyes. Elastic shoes. Nothing pioneering about that particularly, apart from I’m dead.

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