You were the song I use to sing.

A note I used to listen to.

The drums I played.

The melody I made up in my head.

The broken pencil that sketched an art.

The art that meant every single word.

A word I couldn't couldn't write.

All a scene trying to find the difference from right...WRONG.

WRONG was the only possibility.

The only word in which direction I could fathom or etch.

The wrong direction sends you to a place where up and down have no match.

That was the only right thing besides an expensive grave with your name on it.

I carved that last word, I didn't write it.