Start a phase
call it don’t tell Dave
she shows me the way
and puts on a show

it’s the way she combs
my hair
it’s the way she leaves
her makeup near my boyfriend’s
computer watching them tutorials
on youtube

orange and artificial
bright eyes
how i wish i could
be just like you
hate me for something
just

don’t tell Dave
that my cartharsis comes from
the sparks of her loving hands
it’s the way that i lie awake
lying and the way she moves

By: Cedric McClester

Narcissus had a cartharsis
When playing on stage with his band
With all due respect he was a beautiful wreck
‘Cos you never knew where he would land
Sadly his affliction was ****** addiction
That eventually got out of hand
Which despite his gift caused a riff
With the members of his band

Call him Narcissus
Or even Cobain
The flip side of euphoria
Often is pain
Which sometimes can lead
To one’s self-distain
Or an act of suicide
If it must be explained

Narcissus could be capricious
You never knew what to expect
And he could engage people from a stage
By challenging their intellect
Making them take the plunge into grunge
‘Cos he was the architect
He’d play for hours on end
When he became circumspect

Call him Narcissus
Or even Cobain
The flip side of euphoria
Often is pain
Which sometimes can lead
To one’s self-distain
Or an act of suicide
If it must be explained

Despite having a child
And also a wife
He had a certain distain
For his own life
Success cut his insides
Just like a knife
To the point where he decided
To take his own life

Narcissus was self-pernicious
As a consequence of his deep depression
So he took a ride on the wild side
Which also should serve as a lesson
Don’t take what you have for granted
Your gifts might well be your blessin’
And that is the lesson my friend
In the end this poem is addressin’

Call him Narcissus
Or even Cobain
The flip side of euphoria
Often is pain
Which sometimes can lead
To one’s self-distain
Or an act of suicide
If it must be explained
























(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester.  All rights reserved.

Shatter my resolution to imprison,
This very soul in me.
For from the dust He is risen,
And so I will be free.

Isn't there a better way?
O'er this snakeskin shedding,
Than this slow emotional death
Looking for cartharsis
Never to be?

Please, make me, me.
Release me from the birdcage,
And tell me where to dream.

Ah, I look for a tool of my own,
Somewhere buried in the dirt,
Because I am a plow without purpose,
A sword in peacetime.

Sheathed, but mostly lost.
Meaningless, but not wandering,
and so there is no journey,
no art.


Stagnation. Ah.
And a slow morose breath.
Just one long, inhale
For no greater cosmic purpose,
Than the exhale, fleeting.

What a beauty, she said in my agonizing reverie.
Smiling, turning, leaning,
Oyasumi, Good morning.
And the sun's lights ne'er did beam.
The morning stayed dark.
I died, there
heart still beating.