bpd a poem

a demon, thats whats inside me, he's nice i guess I mean he protects me, he helps me he loves me, he wants me, he is me?... yah thats right he is me! we are one and we are separate, wait... he's not a demon...he broke his own aureola and glued store bought horns in his head...poor baby he's just...hurt, why did no one help him? why did no one loved him? is he that broken? well that doesn't matter anymore cause now we are one, I promise you I'll fix your areola the best I can ok my little angel?