They Call Me Rebel

A Poem by Hannah Paige

They call me rebel

And the cigarette slides between my lips

as I tell them to f**k off

I am no rebel

I am a victim

Of a lost rebellion

The brandy burns my throat

As I wash away the dark blue midnight

Of a revolution

Gone with the ashes

Stamped out with the remains

Of that s**t we rolled earlier

And the bass line rolls on

Humming in my ear

“F**k the man,” someone strums

“It’s his world,” the guitar whimpers back,

“F**k us, f**k the rebels.”

But I’m on my second cigarette now

I am no rebel

Purple clouds paint the dusk

And white smoke paints bloodshot eyes

I try to stand but my head spins

And everything is white

So instead I lay

Arms outstretched

Clutching the country grass

And they all follow

And we form a star of sweat stained bodies

That smell like smoke and booze

And look like s**t

And we stare up at the other stars

Way up there

Past the clouds

And we are nothing

I am a victim

Of the universe

And of its stars

And I am a victim of that s**t we rolled

That keeps me dizzy

And tells me lies

I am a victim of monotonous hums

And the people who strum them

I am a victim of the dark blue midnight

And I am a rebel against it all

© 2011 Hannah Paige

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M.Kilani

Although I hate labels, but these are words of a true Anarchy if I may say, not the crazy chaotic ones, but sane true anarchy who were truly damaged by society.
The use of a musical instrument is amazing, it always grabs my attention, and you did it in a good way here, although using taboo, yet it adds reality to the poem.
Booze and cigarettes again, that I adore.
I recommend that you read one of my poems called "Unmarked grave" I like to think of it as an aftermath of your wonderful piece.
Great write, keep it up.