I Read a Book on SElf-DEmand Amputation

What do you say when all is said, when speaking brings you to tears, when writing brings you to the point of screaming in anguish, when there is no point? Why do you subject others to your pathetic suffering when you know they have their own?

There are no heavenly bodies just those that are there when you awake or so the dreams you have seem to suggest. Using the word symmetry when describing the contents of your mind is like throwing yourself off a bridge into a ravine knowing full well if you would have walked a few feet more down the bridge you would have hit the water easily.

The epilogue is always sown into the skin and doesn’t distinguish from the beginning to the end unless you take into account, which insects arrive first. The ash of a religious ceremony never shows the blood or whether or not the snake slithered away alive or dead. From the cradle of exposed skin to the hounding of the door nailed shut, the sounds and motions of life are going to get in one way or another.

If you ever hope to lighten your load you’ve got to learn to leave me by the side of the road.


- Chris Mansel

Clonazepam 0.5 MG Tablet, Round Yellow

Dead in the brine, golden-yellow
A country road is the godhead personified
Leading to a cave where horses give birth out of the reach
Of those sympathetic to the western pantheon
Deserted traveler meeting across the shadow of the steeple
The wandering Albion, cooked meat on the bone
The smell wafting into the cave where newborns
Meet the sacrifice head on


- Chris Mansel

When Hair Remains With The Body

The right moment illustrates the end. A man is never enough and his faults are what give the courage to fall into his own trap of equilibrium. A prisoner is a great source for protection since his life is dependent upon the controlled atmosphere he is within. A victim is to the attacker what the sun is to the rain, rarely, but sometimes they co-exist to cover what together they have joined together to create; they can give and they can take away.
Fear is never an adversary. A cornered animal in the deep snow owes as much to his mistakes as he does his advantage of his white fur. His wounds bleed into the snow and his scent is carried on each snowflake that drifts by. His death a mix of darkness and words, the attacker whose hunger betrayed by thirst at once discovered the internment of organs felt the need of a heartbeat in withered flesh.
The excess of the key generate the obesity of the door. Trepanning of the human skull reveals what every lover cannot caption, the freedom of the mind set loose under the door. The reflection of the light in a blinding sun like starvation to a pair of teeth forced into a curb of concrete in a traffic accident, belittles the contribution of the skull to its last gasp. The image seen through the blinds, the image that would be hidden by doors is the sensation of light on a open wound. The key, a purveyor of the opening shrouds the lock of the weakened eye blinking wordlessly.

- Chris Mansel


“I love she who hates me more.” - Poe