Void

I feel the grief pour steadily.
The nothingness threatens to take over me.
The knife pierces my skin, and then I feel reality.

The memories are too hard to take.
I wallow in my own self-hate.
I can never rejoice, I always feel pain.

So I let the blood pour,
in hope that I'll feel more.
What have I done?
What have I become?

Scissors pierce my skin,
but the void won't fill in.
I wash off my face,
because it's covered in sin.