I drowned in my tears, as they streamed down my face,
I took out my weapon from its glass case.
It gleamed in my hands as I turned it over and over,
Sat beside me - torn, what was once, a four leaf clover.

It has restrained me - and yet it torments,
with each blow to my arm; my mouth ferments.
Coughing - as i strangle myself with my thoughts,
I struggle to breathe as my mind soughts

Any comfort between these four walls,
Beckoning my name - I hear your calls.
They echo through the night and resonate through the day,
Leaving me in a crumpled heap of dismay.

I'm ripped, I'm torn, I'm broken,
here - take this metal as a symbol of my token.
For now, following the angels - I'll drift away,
Looking like I'm asleep in the place that I lay.