Antiquated

He sat in the corner
Of a room that had nothing
But water stains on the walls
And ceiling.
The concrete burns his feet,
He longs for freedom.
A wooden stool in the corner
Is his only friend.
He sits and waits.
The light flickers as
Though it represents the
Heart of the man it
Surrounds.
He pulls a blade
From his pocket and
In one brisk
Movement the light
Goes out for the
Last time.