The Cold Air abusing her skin,
Broke her and her stubbornness.
She had moved to ignorance – of reality
And those with which she shared DNA.
Entering the living space, she sighed,
Announcing her flyscreen presence,
But, no reactions were portrayed in them.
Sighed again, motioning in front of the caged fire,
(unlike the emancipated candle-fire in her chamber)
The warmth confiscated her
and the abuse of The Cold concluded.
Simultaneously with the Grand Final on the box swarming with wires,
Displaying mindless matters of no consequence but
Thieving their attention from her silent screams for assistance,
Or saviour.
Aborting the mission of her own rescue,
She retreats to her chamber
And her emancipated candles.
To be abused by winter again
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