by Kat Georges
Amy Winehouse is dead.
She joined the 27 club with fellow members
Joplin, Hendrix, Morrison & Cobain.
I didn't think the young rebel stars
still died these days. That way.
It's a game these days.
You watch them self-destruct online
then they are cured and their careers
go down the drain.
But not this time.
Amy Winehouse is dead.
Her jazzy throaty swirl bent the rules
and brought her fame. It was her
who bent my ears and made me
pay attention, sway. Those words,
so today, swimming in a stream of
olden beats and minor riffs.
She sang about rehab and vodka and love
and cheating and heartache and pills and
scoring and pubs and baths and bed and
sex and life and lust and hurt and fear
and yes it was pop but it was so deep
and heavy and light at the same time
and you got the feeling that she knew
she knew something about the core
the center the invisible needles that
sew us up in modern society. The things
that make us rot and make us thrive and
are more real that fluff that is the stuff
we now believe in. She was under skin
and twisted the fake smiles that became
the norm when everyone got their own
camera phone. And she is dead, she's
gone, she ain't coming back.
She's not going to Rehab. She's not going
anywhere. Amy Winehouse is dead and all
those gossip pages are going to have to
find someone new to tear to pieces.
She should have known better Mick and Keith
said. We made the mistakes so she wouldn't
have to. Talking like fathers about their errant
daughter. Daughters don't listen. The ones like
Amy Winehouse have to strip it down, they have
to burn the finish, they got to get to the core and
build fresh. These days it takes a lot of work
to undo the layers of who you are supposed to be.
Amy Winehouse is dead. She stripped it to the core.
She made me burn hearing words and a voice that
slipped in and out of the unreal she made real.
And she is dead. She is gone. She is finished.
She is done. Amy Winehouse is dead and every
Twitter feed and Facebook status update broadcasts
the fact that it was -- after all -- just a matter of time.
Omitting that fact that it's just a matter of time for us all.
Some burn slow. Some bright. Some dim.
And some burn with such intensity they glimmer
in their sleep. A glow. Amy Winehouse is dead.
They all say we told you so.
and then they say