I thought I was happy.
Could not know otherwise, I made everything good – made every man a gentleman, every exchange a coincidence.
I did know my own truth.
I saw marks round my neck, so I stopped looking in mirrors.
I wore polo-necks.
I made myself happy.
I was happy as I drunk myself close to death.
Forgetting that I was drinking as a painkiller – killing anal rape, killing gang-rapes, killing knowing being a porn-toy.
No drink was ever enough to fully destroy the pain.
I made myself be happy.
I knew how to smile.
Smile as managers move round to yet more violence.
Smile as fear, pain and hell was my everything.
I smile towards my own living death.
I was so happy, I advertise my joy.
With dead anger I challenge anyone to condemn me.
I fucked men, I used men, I got money, I was treated as a princess.
I ignored my cunt screaming, ignored my anus in agony, ignored cuts and bruises on my body.
By god – I was the happy hooker and be proud of that.
The silent screaming knows I was lying.
Lying in order to stay alive.