Knives upon my skin;
the only way to quell my sins.

A noose above my head,
whispers temptations of the dead.

The air I breathe is tainted by a soul without a home.  

It is not pain that I wish to escape,
but the black hole that is myself.

For what is a life,
when you are a slave to yourself?
So I let my soul slowly fade away,
as I look to the void in which I long to remain.