I've got no outpourings left....

I've regressed into a boring fucking cunt: I can't write; I can't dream; I can't read. I am the antithesis of what my former-self used to embody. It is a great irony how in my short story 'The Pills', the character can only write with the medication. In 'real life', the 'pills' I'm taking prevent me from writing. I wish I wasn't such a lazy cunt; I lack discipline and craft. When I first started my blog I wrote really interesting, miniature essays. I am no longer capable of doing that now..... I've got no more outpourings left. I'm in a constant state of languidity.