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mer·it
/ˈmerət/
noun
1. the quality of being particularly good or worthy, especially so as to deserve praise or reward.
"composers of outstanding merit"
synonyms: excellence, quality, caliber, worth, worthiness, credit, value, distinction, eminence
username:: trans
name:: merit delainey
palette:: ⬛ ⬛ ⬛ ⬛ ⬛ ⬛ ⬛ ⬛where are they rn?:: ↴
where am i? you think idly, as you stare down at your ruined dress, the shiny, reflective sequins and black fabric soiled by some random person's drink that you completely forgot about until you happened to look at your dress again, and the face of the person evades you now, still, as you figure out how many washes it will take to get this out in your head, at first, then on your fingers when you fail to do the simple mental math.
with the thought comes many more thoughts, ones not of your own thinking but from the devil, the monster, churning and thrashing inside you, and run through your mind like your mother used to card her fingers through your hair, and as you lean over the side of the balcony and peer down at a world who has not once, never ever, given a single care about you, you wonder, " where am i going ? what am i doing ? what's the point ? "
" was there ever one at all ? "
your claws tap, tap, tap away at your arm, the stone of the balcony, the invisible force field that serves as a barrier between yourself and the people around you. you dont remember where you are, how you got here, why you even came. you dont remember much of anything, the smoke inside your stomach eating it's way through flesh and bone, turning stark white to darkened ash and fleshy pink to charred black, pitch as the night sky. memories you once remembered in startling clarity fade and age beyond their years, to disappear into the depths of the memory banks inside your head, and time seems to become meaningless; like an empty promise of something better down the road that wont ever come true, the hopes and dreams of your child self crumbling to dust between your own fingers. your body feels like it decays with every second, and the leech inside you says, " keep going, you are better off with my help, " while the rational side of you screams for days on end for you to stop this, to get real help, to tell someone, but that part of you is drowned out by a comforting touch, and a soothing voice, cooing at you like your mother used to do when you had nightmares and came running into her room crying.
as you blow out a puff of smoke that seems to permeate the air like the thinly-veiled disgust of your peers, you feel your lungs decay, your fingers turn coal black, hard as rocks until you smash them to bits, and you feel your eyes slip shut while you think, think, think, feeling like you're mind is like one of those dinosaur-old computers struggling to perform simple tasks (you seem to be feeling like that a lot lately) wondering,
where am i?
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