I wonder where the world goes

when I lie in bed, my knees tucked around my arms, my eyes closed and my mind dead. When I dislike the world because it leaves me so alone. There's nothing anyone can do or say because where I am is at a point far past returning from. There's nothing anyone can understand because my words are representatives of this blurry image. An image without reference point that leads to the nothingness that are my thoughts. I am no one to everyone and this isn't what bothers me. It's the loneliness. The large gaping loneliness. I don't know if you've ever comprehended it. To say that I wish you had in order to be me for several seconds would be tragic because it's so terrible. But to have never felt such emptiness as lucky as you may be, you won't be able to refer back to it when reading this. To assimilate that my room extends past all these feelings and continues outwards from all directions, becoming meadows and meadows of white and blank. I hate it so much, this inescapable thing. I hate it and you don't help me. None of you.