Lit eZine Vol 6 | p-3 | POETRY | My Last Days

I regret the day I became a prostitute
I curse that night of pleasure
HIV is knocking at my door
I accepted it because of money.

My last days are full of regret
Moments I can’t forget
As I cried in my kitchen all alone
Remembering my days of prostitution.

I stood in the dark corners of Douala
Waiting for the monsters of the night
And their blood money for deadly marks
Misguided me in to their dark rooms.

A night of pleasure became a night of fear
All my clients knew the color of my pants
The pants divided my buttocks in to four unequal parts
My outfit was seductive.

The makeup made me look like a mermaid
I am the cause of my dark problems
I lost my pride and my dignity
And I became the author of pleasure.

My last days,
Became a reflection of my doom
Darkness roams around my roof
And left me weak on my old bed
For there was no one to give me a helping hand.

I prayed for death to come
But it seemed not to take me beyond the river side
I desire to go to that place where the trees dance
Take me there wonderful LORD
Let's dance and sing together
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

My last days had my last words
All I said was God, have mercy
As my vision grew blurry,
I couldn't take my house along
Heavenly LORD receive your son
With compassion and Grant him rest.