For I have none to lament me,
the world no injury, for in it I have nothing;
only in the world I fill up a place,
which may be better supplied when I have made it empty.

I would like to begin with saying that these arent my words. I have no idea who uttered them but the sheer despondency in them cut through me.
The tide of forebooding depicted is the subtle cry of a pained soul trapped in the viscious cycle which does nothing to alleviate the suffering of a being who had given up hope and alienated oneself from happiness.