Created Friends From Sculpted Words Poem by Andrus Cassian

This is...my last serenade...this is...my last serenade...
This is...my last serenade...this is...my last serenade...
This life...this life is not meant for me...
I'm troubled, troubled so desperately
I need help, I cannot deny it
I need help, please, point me to where I can find it
My life is a mess; me, I'm a consistent wreck
Keeping my composure isn't my fate, I've only learned to be Leona
myself, yes, my name is Leona; nice to meet you but unfortunately goodbye
I am so ready to leave this dreadful world
my noose is prepared, the note written; but I lack the heart to do it
I can't seem to overcome these persistent roadblocks
these terrible things torturing thee
I just succumb to the mockery, the tyranny, the thievary
of the people who claim my life is a horrible mistake
ever since I gained the ability to communicate
Why couldn't I have been born a mute, a shut in
then I wouldn't be subjected to
creating my friends in sculpted words in various stories
Ironically, they are the ones who know the depth of me
although I can't escape the notion of betrayal lurking boundlessly
I loathe the merriment others receive in tearing me down
ripping my heart out disgracefully
leaving lonely, stinging tears running down my cheek
causing intense grief and months of depression
no progression, rest or relaxation
Sometimes I look myself in the mirror; stare and study the reflection
wishing to be the person in the mirror
laying inside it's own glass world, forever in peace, forever happy
bothered by no one, nothing except for me
gracing its presence just to talk, come to conclusions
Am I insane; ask the padded walls I reside away from
maybe, probably but I'm hoping not
I need help, please find help
gather a search party to find me
I'm lost in the chaos of a miniscule world
and if I, if I endure one more blasphemous day...
there's the cliff...
...and I am standing on the very edge