Fucked Up

I am fed up; life rubs me the wrong way. If I slumber I’d be likely to have vicious thoughts, and I have to do anything to sort them out. I may possibly not sleep; all I could think of doing was shaving my skull. So I did!
I’m in the mood for deserting things. I dumped a lot of notepads, thoughts for songs and stories for films, that sort of stuff. Since forever I'd been composing a lot of material, but when I looked at them all over again, I became conscious that most of them just weren't brilliant. Some folks keep the whole lot. But unless it's good, you shouldn't. I mean I need space. So I wasted the past hours reading through and then throw them away.
I got mislaid somewhere. I just went there [secret place] then came out to return to reality. Yes! I drank a great deal! I thought I was tough and my dead body and guts could take the retribution, but I was mistaken. I was pathetic. Eventually, I found I just couldn't actually escape my couch and I didn't know why. It's significant to me to know, recognize and appreciate things. Like, times ago I'd sit for days thinking about the most trivial issues over and over and over again. But it is hard to live in that frame of mind. It suggests that you can't shift. I rarely spoke to anyone.
Every now and then, I write steadily for a handful of days and it'll be zilch, nothing but trash, and then I'll worry I won't be capable to create anything else. That makes me feel alienated within myself. I'm just crestfallen(ly) depressed, but I know it's the outcome of something I've done and I must accept that.
I won’t repent. Regrets are pointless. You can't change the past or the future.
There's only now, I'll do what I do now!