Amy Winehouse

“They say decrepit pop hag Amy Winehouse is back in the sick house once again”~bossip.com

The tabloids say you smell of urine and unwashed hair
And smoke cold cigarettes that taste like refrigerator.

I read somewhere that when you’re tired or high
You and your husband lie beneath the windows
With a redwood growing out of both your hands
Listening to the paparazzi in your branches


But I bet that when everyone leaves,
You climb to the roof of your house
And miss those shiny droplets of light
Slow sprinkling like oil
With every flash.