It's September.
I am the weary queen of autumn, praying for rain with every
breath.
Summer was vicious.
It took away some significant friends and stripped me of any
sanity.
Let there be winter.
By spring I will have changed into something I wish not to
become.
The nights have grown colder.
New found cold enables me to sleep after long months of
steamy Insomnia.
It's September.
It's been a year and I have learned the true meaning of
losing time.
Let there be rime.
By summer my reflection in the mirror will no longer reflect
me.
It's time.
By next September these words will be meaningless and put
away.
It's September.
I am forever a beloved victim of time.