Unrest

Footsteps where they should not be. Is this, in fact, insanity? Or might it be reality? She to whom I gave my vow, often spurned my bed with a scowl, then to the taverns she would prowl. I sought her out to make a stand, but found her with another man. I returned home with another plan. When she returned for her purse, I greeted her with knife and curse. To her rest she rode a hearse. Now through the window in the gloom, I see a shadow from the tomb. I fear it lusts for my doom. I hear the creaking of the door, then a shuffling 'cross the floor. Soon, I think, I'll hear no more. Footsteps where they should not be. Is this, in fact, insanity? I pray, it is not.... reality.