Bonita A-bell-bomb
You may never hear these words
but in ethers felt them spoke.
And while written, they were wrought, into rot, as I wrote.
This feel's write, especially, when things go wrong-
for, silent lyrics, of a subliminal song.
Strange preference, me being there, then me being gone.
Serpent magnetism and the venom is strong.
Attract or repel, energy's off and on.
The battle seems fruitless send an angel, Metatron.
Anew angle, than the one currently set upon.
Less edgy, more ledge, and knowing, wise dom.
©username
U