Attaboy

your dark-blessed mouth
moving without sound

your hands involving themselves
in matters beyond their grasp

attaboy
attaboy

your room glowing blue by burning
all your hardened regret

your screen full of targets
your attack rationale on dagger point

attaboy
attaboy

owning your enemy
you’re a pain collector

owning your arguments
tangled web connector

attaboy
you are top of the pops
attaboy
you are king and that throne you’re on

is lit

your hair’s a rude mess
framing your face

no one thinks of you ever
till you start to bark

attaboy
attaboy

if you had a dollar for
every sneer you’ve delivered

you still wouldn’t be rich enough
to want to let this go

attaboy
in love with your damnation
attaboy
toast of the distasteful 

attaboy
attaboy

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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