Cora May

Under skies that pulse with sound
you force it down, the memory still posing as ardor
No disguise can save you now
I’m still around, ingredients to dull the glitter
Bright-eyed doll, so full of fear
and crafted all too carefully
And now you leave me here to wonder
The home you make may bend and break
underneath nostalgia’s weight
when I return again to haunt you