Created Friends From Sculpted Words

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 minuscule world and if I, if I endure one more blasphemous day... there's the cliff......and I am standing on the very edge