Ficly

Meritocracy

Merit medals pinned on your skin, as if they meant something. Children at your side like another set of things you can be proud of. Sometimes the children have ideas on their own, sometimes the pins are ripped out and leave a scar. What are you proving, and to whom?
I see you with the red-bound degree in your hand, I see how they envy your body on the strand, and I wonder why I see a void behind that smile. You’ve got everything.
Sitting in a messy room, examining self-hatred like a gemstone of exquisite beauty. It shines, it glitters – your void is dark. And I realize: you are afraid.
In your nightmares, you die, or lose an achievement hard-gained. I don’t have nightmares anymore. And when the end comes, I’ll lose only a garbage pile – you, a pile of honors.
And I smile – counting the days of loss and pain, for I know the last laugh is on you.

View this story's 2 comments.