The scene described more than she could handle.
Thrown away in a pocket of the black jacket could make it anywhere on the market.
Eyes rolled backwards only to focus on whatever is not ahead.
The street talks as they walk across the handlebars.
Lights blinking, a war unforgotten until tomorrow.
Non – moving figures whisper off unto that darkness we now know as descriptions.
The only instructions written on the paper had told us to just listen.
The heat rises only resisting its position to settle.
Never finding it's ways to where the water moves and it’s over now.
Pulling back to find a lamp broken allowing no view to the outside world.
Swallowed whole, we’ll not be digested in Thursday’s remark.
"Non ï¿½ moving figures whisper off unto that darkness we now know as descriptions."
Given your propensity for lines like this considering your age, I'm excited to watch you grow as a writer. And I have to agree with discombobulated in a sense that there is an untamed purity in your voice as a writer. the good thing about that is that it won't be so hard to express whatever you want. The bad thing is, some people throw stones at things that they cannot comprehend by at least 70%.
Anyway... I hope you keep writing. You do have the gift if ever you are wondering.