Poems from Dean_P
Xe Undefined
At four years old, Deana is sometimes called Deanand she is him is both is neither is me.Brown sin coated in dirt streaks and...
*in response to my n'th reading of The Book Thief by Mark Zusak*
It's 11am and 257 pages
The words have rinsed over my beaten and...
The bleeding gives language to a
Pain I can't place words on.
So deep I can't feel it
I've become it.
It both consumes me and has...
Define 'happy'....
feel smiling so quickly your brightness radiates out, and blinds you.
But even blind you see 'happy' because the sound...
Slash at my arms, my legs, my throat
What God is there to pray to
that creates such emotions as this.
I pray.
To not feel, I search for...