Help I Think I’ve Died by Raisa Reina
It is midnight directly as I confess my fears to the void and ask for something in return.
I don’t know when it started precisely.
I don’t know how I missed it,
but I just noticed— a robbery took place.
you won’t find my house askew,
there will be no quivering lip or hidden closet child
you will not find a missing space anywhere
or shards of empty glass embedded on the ground.
But something is missing.
stolen or lost or misplaced.
ripping from the inner space between my connective tissues,
the tight gap junctions,
the various lymphatic veins and circulatory vessels
my core. my core. my core.
the very essence of my being.
how long i fought,
the dreams i had,
the fire devouring the multitudes around me.
now lifeless views reflect my dark eyes.
what makes a ghost realer than me?
the spirit that remains,
that battles to survive.
how long ago did my will die?
“This has been sitting in my drafts for a few months now. I can’t bring myself to edit it but I love it too much to delete it. You can say I probably don’t even have the will to do anything with it. Sometimes I feel like I have trouble communicating so when the words leave my brain they are incorrect on the page and when you read them you don’t get the full scope of what I meant to say. That’s a whole long rambling way of saying, I’ve gotten too many rejections from other pieces, this one just felt like using someone else’s voice in order to gain approval except what I mean to say is I miss being passionate about things and this is my voice and I hate that it seems like I have to share only pain to be accepted and still end up being rejected. Many writers say they experienced tons of rejection before they made it so it seems like leaving the industry isn’t an option for me either.”
Raisa Reina (she/her) is a Guyanese born writer currently editing her first novel. She has a BA, is a self-proclaimed horror critic and can never remember the words to any songs. She can be reached on Twitter at @Thehahafactory2.