A Depression-filled Confessional or The Self-Deprecate Seeks Solace in Sympathy

Sometimes my head isn't screwed on that tight
My vision is out of focus,
I see objects that
overlap each other.
Life's sketches are all wrong. I'm looking through
an abstract painting, when I want to be seeing
something more tangible.

My words don't come out very well
either. Kind of like spilled
milk.The deviation of
my narration is - unintentional
I'm sorry.