The September blues come once a year

In the night they whisper and sneer

It is impossible to always watch your back

When they are hell-bent on an attack

Memories come down like hailstones

Hard missiles aimed and thrown

I have no protection, no umbrella to hold up

They would only change tact and hurt my gut

I’ve heard it called Seasonal Affective Disorder before

But I believe that this is something more

I believe murdered people leave their mark

Retracing their last footsteps in the dark