I Cry Semen Instead of Tears

I never imagined that chasing wealth would curse me in a way so cruel that even the snake I trusted with my life would turn against me. People look at me and see a woman who has it all — the cars, the mansion, the jewels, the luxury. They see my men falling over themselves to touch me, to be near me. But what they don’t know, what no one knows, is the secret that built this empire, the darkness that fills my nights, and the price I pay every single day.

I was a prostitute. But not in the way people imagine. I didn’t fall asleep with men for pleasure or even love. I did it for power. Every man that came to my bed thought he was with me, the real me. But the truth is, it was never me. My snake — the spirit I sacrificed to for wealth and success — was the one lying in my place. It fed on them, drank their seed, and left their bodies empty while my bank account filled.

Each man I “slept” with became a sacrifice. Their lives, their pride, their essence, all consumed by the snake, all converted into money, influence, and power for me. I became addicted to the thrill, addicted to the luxury, addicted to the way my mansion gleamed and my jewelry sparkled. I didn’t care who I destroyed as long as my empire grew. I didn’t see the cost. I didn’t care about the warnings.

Then came the night that changed everything.

That night, the man who came to my bed was not of flesh and blood. He was a ghost. His presence was cold, silent, yet filled with a hunger that I could feel in my bones. The snake, my faithful predator, refused to touch him. I could hear its hissing, its anger, its refusal. And for the first time, the snake turned to me and said words I will never forget: “This one is yours.”

I had no choice. I had to do it myself.

The moment he entered me, I felt something I had never felt before. My womb screamed in pain, my body trembled, and fire ran through my veins. It was agony, pure and unrelenting. From that night, nothing has been the same. My vagina aches constantly, a wound that no doctor can heal, a pain that no medicine can touch. But the physical pain is nothing compared to what followed.

I began to cry differently. When grief, sorrow, or despair touched me, my tears were no longer water. Thick, white semen poured from my eyes, running down my cheeks, dripping onto my hands. I tried to hide it at first. I prayed it was temporary. But the curse was permanent. The ghost had marked me, my body had betrayed me, and now my tears belong to the darkness I once controlled.

People see me laugh in public, smile for pictures, charm men, and think I am untouchable. But behind closed doors, I am a nightmare. Every night I cry alone, the white liquid of my eyes staining my pillow. I scream in silence. I bathe in my shame. I remember every man the snake consumed, every sacrifice, and I wonder if this is the price I deserved.

Even my snake no longer comforts me. It used to protect me, feed me, shield me from harm, but now it watches me with cold eyes, reminding me that I am bound to the ghost’s curse. The snake hisses at the shadows in my room, but it cannot save me from the pain that leaks from my eyes.

I have tried everything to reverse it. I have prayed to priests, traditional healers, and spiritualists. I have begged, bargained, and offered more sacrifices. Nothing works. My curse is permanent. My tears are no longer mine. My body is no longer mine. My life is no longer mine.

I am a woman who sold her soul for wealth, who let a snake take the men she desired, who let lust and greed blind her to the dangers of power. I am a woman whose tears have turned into semen, whose womb aches endlessly, whose eyes betray her pain to the world.

And the cruelest part is this: I would do it all over again.

I would sacrifice another man, let the snake feed, let my empire grow, because the taste of power is sweeter than the taste of normal life. But every time I look in the mirror, I see the curse staring back at me. Every time I cry, I see the white liquid streaming down my face, and I am reminded of the night I lost control, the night I became the ghost’s property, the night I truly understood that wealth has a price — and some prices are too high to ever repay.

I cry semen instead of tears. I am cursed, haunted, and trapped by the very power I once controlled. And now I am warning every woman who chases riches too quickly, every girl who thinks she can cheat the universe: sometimes, the price is your body, your soul, and even the tears from your own eyes.