I watch the mess you made, the mess they made of you. From the very first, you were a damaged little bird. When you think about it, the reasons — daddy, then druggy dandy — were so fucking absurd. Yeah, you created a stir, threw tantrums, you were obviously disturbed as well as stellar, you really needed someone to be stern with you. Then maybe, just maybe Amy, this slow decline into squalor and horrid emotional torture wouldn’t have occurred.
I watch you on the screen, through my fingers, feeling intense sorrow mingling with growing horror.
I see you, Amy…
All that potential, annihilated by your own sorry self…and others, greedy vultures.
The jazzy smoky voice.
The rowdy dirty laugh.
Everything you could have been. Everything you already were – your myriads of colours.
People, what do they know, say it was your bloody vices or even evil curses that precipitated this disaster…whatever! But what really ruined you, Amy, was the fact that nobody ever thought of saying, and meaning, no, no, no to you. It wasn’t a dark love that destroyed you, it was the utter and shocking lack of tough love from your dearest and closest.
So, one day, your heart stopped beating. Way too early. Maybe you got tired of waiting for things to get better. But it’s not the end of your story, how could it ever be. You went back to black, Amy — but you left forever behind that fragile little girl, who just really, only, wanted to be heard.
*I watched “Amy”, Asif Kapadia’s documentary about singer-songwriter Amy Winehouse at 3am today after a fantastic and joyful night out. Was it the alcohol still flowing in my veins or the extremely well-made film? Probably both, but I found it incredibly poignant and was in floods of tears by the end of it – I just had to write those few words when the end credits had finished rolling. I love Amy’s voice, but even if you’re not a fan, I heartily recommend watching the documentary.
Image credit: pevansy.deviantart.com