wolfgang wiseman

the constant has changed.
what was always there has now gone,
leaving a huge hollow emptiness that resonates melancholically deep inside of me.
no amount of desperate longing can ever bring it back,
...

the tragic waste of melancholic lamentations that erupt into the apathetic breeze,
could break a man lacking in fortitude;
but they are unable to fulfil their only purpose.
...

which is the true church?
there is not one,
so i am starting my own.
...

she lay half asleep / half drunk across the backseats of the car.
i gently lifted her precious head and eased myself under her.
she snuggled into my lap as i stroked her soft dark hair.
i could feel her lovely pulse as the tenderness flowed out through my fingers.
...

4 months,
4 days,
4 years,
4 seconds:
...