This poem is included in my collection, Hobo Code Poems.

Amy Winehouse

  
She got a ratty old musical soul

been beat down, shut out and

dangled from the edge

 Now she nonchalantly sings

 broken hearted stories

like she’s already

inhabited all the days

of her life, and now there’s:

nothing left to faze her

nothing left to surprise her.

Drugs will do that to you.

Drugs will infest your brain

and you’ll be feeling all

 cool with the world,

like you’re a hot shot

All systems go.

Then they’ll turn around

 and knock you flat

kick your ass til

you’re wimpering

 and bloody, and no idea

where you’re at

in a heap

on the floor

and then your life

 wants nothing more

than another shot

another drink

another punch out

with your husband

another vomit in the sink.

Amy Winehouse,

the sultry north London

saint of addicts and

broken souls,

has no fear of flying

through a sky that

 holds no light

She’s got a cheap

three dollar compass

 And death spirits tailing her,

like paparazzi,

They lick their chops with delight.

Dear Amy Winehouse

I can only wish you

 the best of luck

in backing your

 ass out of hell

and in kicking

 the curse on a life

that sadly doesn’t

appear to give a ***.