From Gina Myers:

The Dare

The first room is a ghost—another’s hand pressed into your hand.
You, a lost Alice, tumbling and tumbling through the dark
woods, your new dress ruined.
In the first room you are your own heroine running
and running and never looking back.

The second room: a coffin. You trace
the chalk marks on the wall, and with each step
a new face, a new story to be told. You remember waiting.
Sometimes there would be food. Sometimes
there was nothing. You remember
the chalk on the lapel:
the x x for mental defect.

The third room is a fever. You rest against the door, your palms
pressed flat against the wood surface.
The third room never tells. The third room burns
right through you. The third room
is a dream.