There is a sound in my room.
It should be a commentary for the visuals which play upon the walls just below the ceiling but it warbles like a wayward tape machine in my soft, pink, newly formed ears.
All that remains of the story is a collection of mismatched noises, fake moans and tired, exasperated sighs.
Picking out the sense is a delicate task, nuances of truth a no-no, and of your sweet voice… nothing.
Just the words, daubed in graffiti red, dripping in splodges, down the white walls…
“Don’t do as my father does. Do as he says.”
https://scvincent.com/2016/04/14/thursday-photo-prompt-roses-writephoto/
