This is the room where you tore your own throat out and left wet pulp dripping down the embossed roses of the wallpaper. This is the room where your screams started and didn’t stop; where you screamed until blood poured from your lips. This is the room where you finally screamed your mother away from the television.
…Jesus Christ why is she screaming like that can you shut her up what did you do to her stop that screaming or I’ll give her something to scream about…
This is the room where you screamed the blinders off the neighbors, where you screamed the sirens into wailing down your street.
This is the room the police only glanced inside and went away after asking if you were okay.
…such a dramatic girl fell down the stairs only a bruised knee but the way she carries on you’d think it was a broken leg and everything’s fine thank you for checking…
This is the room where the dolls had eyes, but everyone else was blind. This is the room of the kicked in nightlight, of the glare of the streetlamp off his glasses. This is the room where the Jeopardy theme music meant it was almost over because she’d finally turn off the TV. This is the room where you learned to stop screaming or speaking because nobody heard the sound of your voice over the cacophony of their own denial.
This is the room that followed you to college, to failed relationships, to your first, your second, your third suicide attempt, the room where you prayed to God to let one of you die and when God finally answered, you thought you were free.
This is the room you slept in when you came back for his funeral, where afterward, you sprawled in your old twin bed, listening to the theme music from Jeopardy and praying your mother wouldn’t come in to talk to you.
This is the room you never left.