51. The Beast in the glass. (Untitled 2). (12 April 15).

Nearly all the piece’s I’ve written I’ve numbered and dated to keep track of any progress. The original version of this was No.3 and dated at May ’13. This is the first real rewrite of any piece I remember doing.

As with some of the other pieces here there is the earlier draft underneath the heading “Outtakes” at the end. The 3 verse Outtake now reads to me as crampt, like I was trying to force too much into too few lines. It feels like the 4 verse finished version has just enough extra space to breathe in order for it to work. Hopefully there’s enough merit in it to strike a chord with some of you out there.

 

51.The Beast in the glass. (Untitled 2). (12 April 15).

She slides back into bed hair all a black mess,
Just like the inside of her head,
Sleep slips out the other side of bed,
Preparing to dress and go.

I’m still lying here,
I could be lying alone,
Feeling familiar holding her hand,
I’m only lying in clover buying time,

Lying In something I shouldn’t have begun,
If the scars on her mind,
Didn’t feed the beast in her glass,
I’d outlast the coffee she just delivered,

She doesn’t have to be talking,
She can do it without her mouth open,
But it’s not the lying down kind of lying,
That’ll deliver the fatal blow,

(c) Jim Laing 2015.

 
Outtakes:

She slides back into bed hair all a black mess,
Just like the inside of her head,
Sleep slips out the other side of bed,
Preparing to dress and go.

I’m still lying here,
Not sure I’m lying here alone,
Feeling familiar holding her hand,
But I’m only lying in clover buying time,

She doesn’t have to be talking to be lying.
She can do it without opening her mouth,
And it’s not the lying down kind of lying,
That’ll deliver the fatal blow,

I’m lying In something I shouldn’t have begun,
If not for the scars on her mind,
That feed the beast in her glass,
I might outlast the coffee she just delivered,

(c) Jim Laing 2015.

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About Jim Laing

The Buddha said there were four kinds of people. Those who run from dark to dark, those who run from light to dark, those who run from dark to light and those who run from light to light. From a life going from dark to dark to having a few years running from dark to light, with scuffed hands and knees from sometimes falling, I may be getting the hang of it now. How it began is not now how it is, I need a quiet space, After the noise of the day, So I take sanctuary in the creativity, And my soul feeds, On sometimes dark, Sometimes light fantasy, And I dare like many to work, But stay up off my knees, To dream, perchance to suffer, But always still to dream. Here are things mostly lyrical and poetic, with nonsense sometimes, reviews and personal musings. The coffees hot and always black. The words not necessarily so.
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