The Pathetic Call Poem by Adam Hollingsworth
The Pathetic Call
Everything is lost,
No sound, in the blinding night.
Profound sight-isn’t what I bought,
No wrong without a right.
Thoughts for sell,
Inhale the sweet grass.
Misery inside-I’d love to die,
All in all lost inside.
Always in life,
I turn up last.
Just smother me till my lost
Hatred of desolate air-In the end
It’s useless.
Please god,
I
Just
Want
I
T
To
End.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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6/10/2026 6:28:24 AM # 1.0.0
