BPD

Dear Reader, I wish I could tell you that you're going to survive this,

But I cannot. There are two of you, after all, with whom death must confer.

The you that has grown from a dribbling child to the damned adult, and the you that was born of mistreatment and neglect.

You're two equal halves. Who is awarded competency, when you are both undeniably real, and the same form of fucked?

It is like having an ornery twin- they do something awful and you must amend for it, simply because you share the same coat.

You may survive. If you can live with the scratching cat with sharpened claws battering at the door of your consciousness.

Or perhaps the world will take pity, and run you down with a school bus.

Who knows, after all I am just another shade of you.