Expectations loaded ready to misfire.
Shooting my head is a daily ritual.
If expect to be taken seriously I deserve set backs.
And I’m asked what I want but it’s an illusion and maybe I’m a perfectionist but steady loosing while errors form a tidal wave.
Perhaps I’ll just let go and let my wishes die it may be best.
Who wants me to be me lip service but in the end it’s not true.
Human nature, human nature.
So I’ll stop loading disappointment with hollow point expectations aimed to my head I get awkwardly silent after I die again.
Control is a battle outside and inside I try to determine ego, selfishness, proper decisions, or perfectionism in the field.