Showing posts with label meth lab. Show all posts
Showing posts with label meth lab. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

The Crystal War


THE CRYSTAL WAR

The earth knows how to hide its secrets well,
sometimes men, too, must hide secrets,
even wage desperate battles to bury these secrets,
'cause keeping them hidden could mean the difference
between death and survival,
humiliation and scourge.
Unknown to the outside world,
Kentucky is waging such a battle,
and the cause of this battle is an addiction,
that grows and swells with each passing hour.
Under the scolding sun, the days seem hot,
throbbing with unrelenting humidity;
no storm has come and the air is still
as officers search for the crystal stash;
sometimes the stillness will end
with a gentle rain of disappointment,
but sometimes with a thundering
storm of triumph as yet one more lab is dismantled.
The sea of hope is sometimes calm and motionless,
but the sea is never still;
sometimes a force has beckoned to tear families apart
and we never know if we are being drawn
from the pain and disruption
or toward some final shore.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Dear World

I wanted to share this with you - it is written by my 17 year old daughter. Several months ago, an 20 month old baby from Kentucky swallowed chemicals from a meth lab and eventually died a horrible death. This is my daughter's interpretation - from the point of view of the meth lab. Chilling ...





Dear World
by Christine Rightmyer

I killed a little boy last night. In the emergency room, he kicked, and screamed, and then he just...died. Like he didn't even think about it - it was not a big deal to him. He swallowed my liquid fire from a tea cup sitting on the stove, surrounded by disinfectants and old Bic lighters. It wasn't my fault he was twenty months old. He didn't know any better and neither did I.

I can only imagine what it felt like for him, the flames traveling down his esophagus, settling in his stomach. Caress the ribcage, tap the sternum. I wonder if his heart began to beat a little bit faster before the fire hit his small intestine. The temperature began to rise, a boil starting to turn. I'll bet he started to choke and cry, spit bubbling out of his tiny pink mouth. He starts to quake, flailing against cold linoleum. Grandfather notices, before it dawns on him what exactly he has done. He stares at the tea cup face down on the floor, then at his grandson, who is no longer shaking.