Everything's OK

My first translation of a Russian poem.

I’m doing greatee, thanks a lot for asking.
Melancholy is groundless in my case,
The loneliness I feel results from faces ‘round;
For apathy, one man to blame " myself.

I weighted every ounce and every pound,
I’m nauseous now, I pondered every plan.
What’s haunting me is like some tiny nails
of losses, errors driven into me.

No more ‘playboys’, enough of ‘lady killers’
who paint the town, prodigally, red.
What price to pay for simply being happy?
To end the life to which I had been led?

Assume it’s not unheard of to be erring,
to foul things up with no intention to,
to laugh my head off when I’m feeling like it,
to know I’m right and, off the hip, to shoot.

I must believe the Happy End is nearing,
forget the plans and hazard for a bliss
by reaching up for stars to get my own,
A happy life’s the greatest thing there is.