Salt

by Conor Beales

You didn’t see, but last night I drew four lines in the sand
You couldn’t see because I hid them beneath the covers
I’ll never let you see unless the knife is there in my hand
I’ll not tell you anything false, so you can soon discover –
When the salt returns to wash away the land’s scars
There’s nothing wrong with me, from what you’ve seen so far.

 
I can’t show you the signs because I’m keeping it a secret
If you know, then someone may try to make it their own
It’s my portrait and I intend on making sure I keep it
Don’t claim to know when you’ve suddenly grown.
When the salt returns to wash away the land’s scars
There’s nothing different about me, yet here we still are.

 
The red ribbons I trailed across my bedroom window
Look like water when the wind rushes on past outside
I watch them dance as the reflection of ruby flows
And when the sun shines, the room is a crimson tide.
When the salt returns to wash away the land’s scars
There’s the same space above, along with yesterday’s stars.

 
I’ve drawn a masterpiece into the canvas of my body
Like words in the snow – you can see above the white
Then down below there’s more waiting ahead of me
From there you can see what I’ve made in one night.
When the salt returns to wash away the land’s scars
There appears the familiar sting of art when nobody cares.