Dread

[horatioalone]

She showed up unannounced one day—the Dread,
her bloodshot eyes sunk deep into her head,
and brought with her the stink of something dead.
She was young and tall, her hair a fiery red,
her ribs protruding, body underfed,
the floorboards hardly noticing her tread.
I let her in my kitchen and my bed
without a single word between us said.
The mirror’s silvered glass became dull lead.
At sunrise I discovered she had fled
and left an ash heap, seven lengths of thread,
and thirteen howling voices in her stead.
Though I was just a child, that night we wed,
and for her love I bled, and bled, and bled.