Finding Light Poem by Izuchukwu Onyedibiemma Udokwu

I'm scared of this kind of forlorn.
It has thawed the solid walls of my doorway,
Walked right into my interior,
Skinning my colours, gashing my facades, drowning my basement.

I'm a sublime castle collapsing from the inside,
And falling on the roof in crystal pebbles.
Walls. Absorbing.
Roof. Splitting. Seeping.
Bed. Quavering. Crumbling. Sinking.

Don't think I'm always strong,
Because, sometimes, underneath my laughter and smile, curl two bold spikes,
Deluging my breath, modifying my limbs to lapse abreast a cold body.

You can look into my dust stained, desert eyes,
Unmoistened upon bristles trickling their roofs.
You can insert smile into my lips and watch it collapse at your back.

I'm a house, swallowed by a tender darkness.
Each room welcomes me to a different colour of dark,
Each step echoes in my head, like beats for the dead.

I tried to reach the window pane,
To tear down the thick curtain,
Use it to wrap this dusk and bury it under my bed,
Or burn it below the inferno of my feet,
Or drown it in the tub of my tears.

I don't know when a person's body became a confetti against itself.
Or maybe the scrapes of this space have taken the shape of my body,
That I may lose the clout to dry my cold sweat.

I pick up my pen,
I see light inside its straw,
And I begin to write healing on the pages of my hands,
On the scars of my feet,
To unclutter my skylight.