I can't be your therapist.
I'm too
Selfish,
Empty,
Lonely.
I can't be your therapist.
I'm too
Much in my head,
Much in my heart,
Much in my chest.
I can't be your therapist.
Because
I can't stand your complains,
I can't stand your thoughts,
I can't stand being so selfish.
I can't be your therapist.
Because
I'm struggling to get by,
I'm struggling to process,
I'm struggling to swim.
I can't be your therapist.
So go find another one.
(Alternate ending -
How can I be your therapist,
when I can't even be my own?)
YOU ARE READING
Little Things in Life
De Todo"I hate a Roman named Status Quo!" - Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury