Correction, please

No, my dear.

I do not fill voids. I create them.

I seep in, suck the marrow out of you, empty you of everything. Wide, gaping abysses are my forte. I negate everything you know, annul all you are. Rescind without reinstating, overturning the tumult in you and scooping you hollow. Quash your atoms, turn them into mass-less dust, and let them swirl off into some unknown dimension. Leaving you with more than an absence, profounder for its dearth. 

I am the scythe personified. I am the poison you think is balm, and all because you fail to see. Your voids are more for my presence, blindfolded mortal. I kill and hack and dissolve, scooping and disbanding. 

What are you, compared to ranks of fallen humanity? If ever I have served a purpose, it is this and this alone.

I am the Void that was created to create more voids.
And you? You are one of my masterpieces.