Maybe it's better than feeling anything at all

Numb. Like the curtain
that lets itself be blown
back and forth, forth and back
every day without relent,
without complaint.
I live this life of numbness,
and maybe it’s better than
feeling anything at all.

I dread the nights.

But they come so quickly,
chasing away the day, the day
I take comfort in, the day that
comforts me. They sneak up
and replace the clean bright air
with their overwhelmingly suffocating
aura, hands that strangle and choke me,
that push themselves into me and violate
me everywhere (but I feel nothing now).

I never asked for such a life.

I was pushed into it violently, abruptly,
without warning, by a smiling mask
hiding a sinister evil that appears in
my mind every time I let whatever that
remains as my soul out. It comes out as
choked sobs into my torn blanket
(my ‘mummy’ would beat me if she
heard me), hot streaming tears
that fail to warm my numbness.

I don’t believe in God.

If He exists, He wouldn’t let me be
deceived. He wouldn’t let my frantic
prayers (in the beginning, when I still believed)
go past unheard, dissolving into the air
that frosts my heart now. I tried to believe,
I really tried, but after the five hundredth time
I prayed for the single and only wish I had,
I gave up believing, cause there simply is no God.
(He wouldn’t have abandoned me to such an
existence if He exists)

I livea life with only one wish and one regret.

I came with the evil I trusted to this place
foolishly believing that being a waitress
here could earn me more for me to repay
my parents and, for that was what I always
wanted, to be able to buy things I liked,
new clothes that shimmer and that feel
so soft instead of tattered ones passed
on by my sister that are worn and faded.
Now I would have given everything
to wear back the worn clothes.

My body and soul are separated.

They have to be. Every time Day
leaves me, They would come into
my room, and then my stuff toys
can’t protect me anymore. They
grin, They whisper soothing words,
but They are all the same. They peel
off the exterior that I used to clutch
so desperately to myself, and then…
I can’t and don’t want to remember,
for this part onwards my soul
leaves me, and I am left with an empty
shell, hollow with echoes of screams inside.

I tried to escape once, to get out of this existence.

But I got caught by my ‘mummy’, who demands
me to call her that. She caned me, angry slashes
that are what I deserved, that made red gashes
on my skin. I remember I bit my lip so hard
that my teeth was stained red, and then
later I buried my face in my blanket,
my frame shaking so hard with the force
of my cries, cries that nobody hears but
my blanket.

Now I just feel numb.

And maybe it’s better than feeling anything
at all. I’m just a pale imprint of the soul I used
to have, the soul that is now locked up
somewhere (I don’t know where), that
I don’t want to have back because I don’t
want to feel. The soul that is now
screaming, silent screams that nothing hears.
Like screaming in the wild wild hollow
of a valley, screaming for someone to hear,
screaming till the throat becomes red, screaming
for Death to hurry up and take my body.

I want to join my soul in Death.

A/N: I tried a POV of a child prostitute forced into the trade. I don't have much bg info for this, all this is based on an article i read about the plight of child prostitutes in Batam.