What sorcery is it?

She never used to condone,

never blinked first to her capriciousness.

Her heart was always conflagrant,

but never was this dingy.

Ignorance was a bliss,

even for those thick as thieves.

But, what sorcery is it?

leading to this metamorphoses.

She easily retires to any alteracation,

overlooking the things ache the most for petty affection.

She once promised to the image in mirror,

never to bicker over things such trivial.

Earlier, that happened only in dreams,

she was a nightmare when misdeemed.

An acid was she,

harming more to the vessel in which stored,

than anything on which she was poured.

But, what sorcery is it?

placating her ablazed heart.

Perplexed as she is,

never got to the conclusion.

Maybe it is the tenderness from the stranger,

leading to her weakness.

Maybe the stranger is now her Orion in the night full stars,

shining the brightest,

and setting her free from these persistent bars.

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