RIP AMY WINEHOUSE

Photo: People

For the first time in a very long time, the front page splash of The Sun on Friday was good news. “Amy Winehouse's Camden Home to be Rehab HQ” screamed the headline. Is it just me or do you get the feeling that everything just seems so rushed? I mean, especially since the cause of her death still hasn't even been confirmed! It’s all just so so sad. It was disturbing to read some of the public reaction to the rehab HQ news; some people posted incredibly inappropriate tweets:

@D_Belkin said: "I think I need the help of the AmyWinehouseFoundation after choking on my vomit upon discovering the existence of the Winehouse Foundation"

@oh_her said: "wow ppl are still talking about winehouse? whats the big deal? she was gonna die sooner or sooner"

@JustAFanOfAFan said: "AmyWinehouse's house being turned into a rehab, it's basically jus gunna be like a treasure hunt for the patients"

I call this the dark side of social networking. Before Amy Winehouse was a pop starlet, well known for her beehive, thick black eyeliner, chart topping hits and her battle with alcohol and drugs, she was just Amy! A daughter, granddaughter, niece, sister and friend. Her family and friends are now grieving a loss so deep, that only those who have walked that road will truly be able to comprehend it. As I sorted through some old personal papers the other day, I came across this poem “Introducing Miss Heroin”. I recognised the handwriting belongs to an old friend from my teen days. Her mum was addicted to heroin back then, but thankfully nowadays she's free. I'm still a little baffled as I don't remember how I ended up with it. It's an incredibly old poem but at the same time it's the heart-breaking reality for many people all around the world enslaved to drugs like heroin. I'm not sure of the author but I thought I’d share it anyway. 

So now, little man, you've grown tired of grass, L.S.D., acid , cocaine, and hash and someone pretending to be a friend
Said, "I'll introduce you to Miss Heroin."
Well honey, before you start fooling with me,
just let me inform you how it will be.
For I will seduce you and make you my slave;
I've sent men much stronger than you to their grave.
You think you could never become a disgrace
and end up addicted to poppy seed waste.
So you'll start inhaling me one afternoon;
you'll take me into your arms very soon.
Then once I have entered deep down into your veins,
the craving will nearly drive you insane.
You'll need lots of money (as you have been told).
For, darling, I'm much more expensive than gold.
You'll swindle your mother and just for a buck,
you’ll turn into someone vile and corrupt.
You'll mug and you'll steal for my narcotic charms,
And feel contentment when I'm in your arms.
The day when you realise the monster you've grown,
you’ll solemnly promise to leave me alone.
If you think that you've got the mystical knack,
then, sweetie, just trying getting me off your back.
The vomit, the cramps, your gut tied in a knot,
the jangling nerves screaming for just one more shot.
The hot chills, the cold sweat, the withdrawal pains,
Can only be saved by my little white grains.
There's no other way and there's no need to look,
for deep down inside you will know you are hooked.
You'll desperately run to the pusher and then,
you’ll welcome me back into your arms again.
And when you return (just as I foretold)
I know that you’ll give me your body and soul.
You'll give up your morals, your conscience, your heart;
and you will be mine til death do us part!