Poetry & Prose

My Bedroom

by Danielle Carbonneau
I have entered my bedroom,
White walls and red floors,
Blouses I’ll never wear strewn about
Like so many dead blades of grass
After I mow the lawn.
I know that I will never again
Walk through the doorway
Because I will die in this room.
There is a man in a gray sweatshirt
With a butcher knife waiting under my bed.
There is a woman holding a baseball bat
Under the heap that is my comforter.
There are two children with drowned eyes
Who will strangle me with a belt.
No, I will not leave this room.
They will find me melting into the floor,
Blended into pastel blazers and shrunken flannels.
And they will say that it was such a surprise,
And they will say that it was such a tragedy,
But I knew that I would not leave this room
In anything but a body bag.

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