Desperation.

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You reek of desperation, said the worn out image of my once youthful self in the mirror. The same mirror I had picked out with so much enthusiasm had now become my enemy, I cannot recognise the girl staring back at me no matter how hard I try. My hollow eyes desperately seeking to see a bit oh heaven and freedom, my skin barely keeping it together, and my smile, that once lit up the room has become nothing more than a painted red marked smile of a sad clown.

When did I become this person, when did I give up?

Whe shower can’t seem to wash away all the sins I’ve committed I suppose I was warned that only Jesus can wash away sins. Prayer a distant thought and a memory of small child still pure. No matter how much Listerine I use, I can’t seem to wash out the cigarette and alcohol taste of my recent lover sprawled over my bed.

What happened to me?

I crawled back into the sheets, seeking warmth from the motionless heart of my suiter. I knew from the onset he knew not what love is yet my desperate heart accepted the less he offered, I thought I knew better? I guess I was tired, of sleeping alone, not having a date to all my friend’s weddings, always that one friend you couldn’t double date with, and being the one who befriended wine cellars and strip clubs, with a closet full of sex toys to raise stimulation in my heart that doesn’t know how to beat anymore. I guess my career can’t keep me warm at night after all.

I tainted my own aura.
The nightmares that sleep with me seem to be more alive during the day than night. I can’t keep popping pills to kill the voices in my head consuming my sanity, and yet I lie here, every night next to a being whose sole purpose for my life is destruction. Why did I not listen when he said he ain’t no good for me? I tried to change him, but instead I became him and slowly the worms of his deceit have been eating at me from the inside out; all along thinking its time I picked out my casket and my headstone, because behind all this make-up and perfect hair, I’m merely a walking corpse.

You reek of desperation.
I have opened up my legs more times than I have walked this earth simply to fill a void inside me, but the warmth I welcomed still kept me cold. With each orgasm I died further, the thrill of life leaving my soul with every sweat kissing the pillow, my heart out of sync with my spirit. I did this to myself I keep saying. Drink more and numb the pain, my worth has diminished, my sheets will never become clean, tainted by the self-induced miscarriages to keep him by my side.
You reek of desperation.
My worn out body screaming pick me in brothels and drunk yards, my saintly being washed away by the waters of Gomorrah and Sodom, doubt Jesus can save this soul. Redemption is a far cry; I bet you when he took the keys from hell, clearly my soul was already trapped there. The preachers have laid their hands on me casting out the demons of my poor choices, blaming the devil for my actions, blinded by the unknown reality of a non-existing self-love. Dear Jesus, please come down.

You reek of desperation.
Broken virgin vows a constant reminder when he penetrates without my consent, purity a far cry. All I seem to know so well lately is the river of bed of men whose name I can barely pronounce that I have made my comfort. My mother birthed a whore, no use denying it. I guess I could hope a little, that perhaps when the rain stops pouring and the rainbow peaks from the cloud, a bit of the colours will shine upon my 50’s black and white life film, I am exhausted by the desperate need to belong and find peace. Dear Jesus, can you hear me, they said you are real, I’m waiting.

I reek of desperation.

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Written by Amogelang Lekwadu.

Photography by Brigid Schutz.