I miss this mischief

I guess there's less than a sliver of my childhood left, more than you'd expect but the effect of these surroundings have found me floundering, nearly drowning in an astonishing web of traditions, that led me to all my addictions

Allow me to make a confession, I have this obsession with happiness and general bliss, to blind myself from loneliness and my own selfishness

Oh, how I wish upon a star, but it's a bit too far, a bit too abstract

So I retract against that fact and get back to my urban habitat with its disturbing lack of eye contact

That unfortunate state, which I help perpetuate and knowingly exacerbate in order to make discomfort less prominent

But I'm still not 100%

100%, 100%, 100%

100%, 100%, 100%

100%

100%, 100%, 100%

I am complete in my incompleteness but that fails to address how much I detest my apparent stupidness

So this repetitive self-hatred led me to these thoughts that soon will consume my personality, until all that is left in me just happens to be confident bullshit

A ruse that I choose to exude in order to see some improvement

But I'm still not 100%