I am buried alive
beneath an avalanche of words;
desperate for breath, I cry out
only to find my mouth
open wide, emitting silence.
I am your Azazel;
like a High Priest,
you place your hands upon me
and transfer all your sins.
After muttering The Curse
you release me into the world
watching me as I vanish
over the horizon, and
out of your sight.
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Author:
Fränz Müller (
Offline) - Published: April 25th, 2026 21:43
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Offline)
Comments1
A wonderful metaphor of our means of transferring blame in scapegoating and what better method that poetic. Well written
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