All the Therapy Sessions I Never Had by Viraaj Raofield

(1) In which a person contemplates their friendship in light of their mistakes

I don’t know why I hate myself so much.

Maybe because I hurt you so often.

I hate that I break everything I touch.

Near me, you ought to take more caution.

I try to change, but it’s impossible.

At least that’s how it feels – like I can’t stop.

I know I should feel less responsible.

But who am I kidding? No one is shocked.

I wish I could tell you what’s wrong with me.

You comfort me whenever I mess up.

I feel like a burden, you disagree.

You say to tune out my brain, it’s corrupt.

I wish I could be a good friend to you.

But I’d screw up, even with a redo.