Even after a shower
The smell won’t wash away
A stranger’s trace
Still clings to my skin
Marks on the sheets
Pressed into my thighs
They don’t fade
As I put my makeup back on
Crumpled bills
Inside the locker
My fingers shake a little
As I count
My time divided by hourly pay
Cheap or expensive
I don’t think about it anymore
Called by a name
I put on a voice
How many times
Have I said “nice to meet you”?
Gentle or rough
It’s all the same
When it’s over
Just a silent door
I became a sex worker
Even when I’m touched
I feel nothing
Not feeling became the job
And only my heart
Keeps wearing down
I became a sex worker
Every time they say
“It’s an easy job”
Something breaks
Before this body does
A pale ring mark
Left on a finger
The smell of a family
Someone brings with them
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” you say
Then don’t come here
A flashy face
Staring back from the mirror
When I peel it off
Who am I again?
On the way home
I feel like throwing up
The convenience store lights
Are painfully bright
Did I get used to it
Or just go numb?
I don’t even care
Which it is anymore
As long as time passes
It turns into money
I became a sex worker
Looked down on
Sold at a high price
Dignity is just a word
Compared to this month’s rent
I became a sex worker
The better my smile gets
The quieter
My real voice becomes
“Why don’t you just quit?”
Don’t say it so easily
There’s no escape route left
I can walk through
I became a sex worker
I can’t be proud
But it isn’t a lie
I wasn’t dirty
I chose this
Before I was ruined
I became a sex worker
Nights when I’m afraid
Of morning coming
Still, I breathe
I survive
With makeup remover
I erase my face
What’s left in the end
Are bare eyes
This time
Not bought by anyone
This moment alone
Is mine
- Lyricist
510
- Composer
510
- Producer
Darenimoienai
- Graphic Design
Darenimoienai
- Vocals
Darenimoienai
Listen to I Became a Sex Worker by Darenimoienai
Streaming / Download
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I Became a Sex Worker
Darenimoienai
"I Became a Sex Worker" is a quiet, unfiltered confession-
not a shock story or an accusation,
but a record of what it feels like when survival rewrites your life
one night at a time.
The song explores the distance between body and emotion:
a scent that won't wash off,
marks that stay pressed into the skin,
and a voice used like a costume.
Not feeling becomes part of the job,
while the heart continues to wear down in silence.
It captures the exhaustion of being told
"It's easy,"
"It's not wrong,"
or "Why don't you quit?"
as if any of those words could undo the roads already walked.
Yet the song refuses to divide the narrator into victim or sinner.
It acknowledges both the agency and the damage-
the choice made before the self was lost,
and the numbness that followed.
Toward the end, the song shifts.
When the makeup comes off,
what remains is a pair of bare eyes
that finally belong to no one else.
"I Became a Sex Worker" is not about guilt or pride.
It's about endurance,
about living in a world that wears you down,
and reclaiming even a single moment
that is yours alone.
