It's Funny It's funny when I see myself in the mirror. I see deceit, lies, loneliness and anguish. My eyes are empty. Filled with nothing but a void that can't be filled. Nothing. My lips pursed and bloodied. My cries for help forever muffled and silent. Silent. My cheeks puffy from the tears I had stopped crying. Long had I been doing that. Crying and crying. But I did stop. For I am broken. It's funny when I wake up from bed. I see my tear stained pillow. My tears had fell unbeknownstly when I was unconscious. My body sticky from the cold sweat I had broke out. My breathing ragged and broken. My hands shaking at the realisation it was all a dream. All a dream. So why do I feel more frightened than ever before? It's funny when I head out to work. I see the sun shining brightly up in the sky. How many more years does it take for it to burn out? I see the birds chirping merrily and nestling in their trees. I wonder of they know their home will be gone in a few days time. I see the people bustling about to their own lives. Paired together, in a group, or alone, they seem to be too occupied to notice that they will die and it wouldn't matter to the world. So why do they still smile? It's funny when I'm alone at home. I taped the windows shut, blocking out the fresh air and bright light from entering my room. The smell wouldn't travel out and nobody would see me. I locked the doors tightly, tossing away the key for good measure. They wouldn't reach me. They never tried. I readied the rope. I stood on the stool and silently agreed this was for the best. Nobody had told me otherwise. I was ready. It's funny when I placed the rope around my neck. My tears had fallen silently but I did not make a sound. My lips were shaking but they mustered a smile. I breathed in a shaky smile and closed my eyes. I did what I had to do. I kicked the stool. It's funny when I'm dead.