Each year I'm stuck pondering,
Thinking about the separate identities
September puts on and throws away.

Flinging emotions around like dresses
Leaping from their hangers, onto the floor
Unsure as to what fits best.

September didn't mean to be so indecisive
With its masks of sentimentality,
Euphoria and turmoil.

But I'm simply bewildered.
September used to bring me to utopia;
A world filled with whimsical wonders.

A single swing would carry me through
The gates of jubilation, while I'd gleam
And cast my worries to the wind.

The serene air that carried my troubles
Soon grew restless and agitated.
Simplicity ceased.

Struck by gusts of havoc,
I watched my bliss wither away
As I fell from the swing.

The chains snapped and I discovered
What September really wanted to be.
Bleak. Bitter. Melancholy.