I'd say I feel like a confessional.
I am nothing but a voice behind
a wall of woes and worries
layered on top of each other.
it is hard to differentiate my pain from theirs
because the paint is all the same color.

I'd say I feel like a product
that keeps getting put back on the shelf.
the signs advertise
blow up doll: therapist edition!
you can stick your emotions into me
without the stress of worrying about how I feel.
no reciprocation necessary.
you can project yourself onto me
until I look too much like everything you hate.
note: you may return the item,
but we cannot refund wasted time.

I'd say the only difference between
being replaced and being disposed of
is whether or not they want to remember me.