He was closed
In a gray concrete cage
Scents of smoke and metal wafted
Mixing with the aroma of stale bread
Drifting from the nearby bakery
Gazing around he tries to find
Something human
Something alive
But finds naught but mannequins
Cleverly crafted to be a perfect mimicry
But behind those windows lay no soul
Even he felt as if he was losing himself
He turned to those windows that still reflected
Who he was
Seeing his soul in the distance
But he cannot he must not he should not
Or perhaps he dare not
No longer however as he steeled himself
Leaping out to regain what he had lost
To bring a full stop to the agony
But alas all he found
At the end of the road
Was a
Comma