Red brick façade
Winds pumped through sealed cracks
Drapes pulled over tinted windows
Just enough light to see
The door was locked and boarded
A peephole sometimes darkened
But the blackness crept away
And left a clock to tick into the silence
The door had once opened
To a volcano painted in white ash which he loved
But the grounds inevitably shook
And the paintings fell from his bleeding walls
Molten redness flowed
And escaped the cracks
Of the beaten wall
And sealed him in
White powdered lungs
Empty suffocation
A life limited to ashy furniture
And an empty peephole
Whether you intended it or not, I've identified three motifs throughout your poem: color, light vs. dark, and seclusion; and they are all beautifully crafted together in this poetic tragedy. The imagery along with the word choice is really effective in illustrating your story. I love it!
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