On my conscience

I have increasingly become filled with angst over a dire relationship between my creative output and my conscience. I have long wished the two divorced, but they remain more conjoined than two freak twins.
I would have thought that years of consistent anarchy could reduce one’s conscience to a dull blur on one’s emotional state line. However, every time I have a particularly ‘rough’ night, I find myself unhinged by the events the next day. Nowhere moreso, than when it’s time to write. The dull blur becomes a rising tide that all but blocks creative flow to the brain.