The Void

Its 2 A.M, your insomnia is at its best at keeping you up. Along with a million voices telling how you've managed to fuck up every last aspect of the current hell you call life. That is all void is. Just nothing. No emotion. No words. Nothing. Which ends up being insanity. You lay there curled up in tears trying to escape your own head. Praying to the nothing that will only bring a distraction with false hope. Then you turn, look at your phone, perfect reminder of how alone you are. Then you look at your arm, count up all ten scars and the stories they hold, every break up, every argument, every time you thought you weren't good enough. You start to cry more you can’t take this. You glare at the pencil sharpener on your desk. You unscrew it and remove the razor. You are drenched in tears and the only noise you can make is “I’m sorry” over and over. Doesn’t make a difference either way and you know it. You press the razor to your skin, and swipe left. Then right. Then diagonally and down.  Nothing bleeds you think you’re fine. It does hurt but somehow the adrenaline helps. So you sleep. That is what the void does. It is nothing more than the monster in your head that consumes you. As you try to hide from the so called monsters under your bed.

The void is also is a savior in a way. Making sure all your long sleeves are clean to wear to school. Making sure to keep a death grip on that sleeve so it never rides up to show the bloody pain underneath. It provides you with the constant supply of fake smiles needed. It also gives us humans the ability to say a million stories about “You” or “Someone” When in all actuality we talk of no one else’s experiences or feelings as our own. Much like I've done here. Kind of a crazy Idea isn’t it?