Mockingbird

Tis a sin to kill a mockingbird,
it's what they all believe;
they bring nothing but pleasure
to everyone but me.
My mockingbird is small and white
supposed to be a ray of light
his singing makes me happy;
too bad he doesn't work.
My mockingbird's my my most cherished friend,
he's my worst enemy too;
He loves to see me scream and sob
even more than the others do.
My birdy is expensive,
his wings are made of gold
wish I was worth it,
his singing makes me too bold.
While they hear his music,
beautiful and sweet,
all I hear is screaming
and my pounding heartbeat.
Take him away, I don't want him anymore
"Too bad,
      so sad,
          he's here to stay".
Supposed to make me happy,
he does the opposite, in fact.
why am I so different?
What the hell do I lack?
I'm sick of taking orders,
I'm sick of taking pills
when they do nothing, but make me ill.
But of course, I cannot say this,
Don't need them to worry more about my mental "health".
So sing on my beloved,
sing on my mockingbird,
let them hear your tune
while I lie here,
bleeding in my room.

To kill my little mockingbird,
cut off its precious head,
but then again, maybe its me
whose better off dead.