Poem: Speedsters

I don't like speedfreaks.
Their lives divided into personalities of five:
The Loving, the Caring,
the Stealing, the Lieing, the Manipulating.
Not so different than everyone else,
but heightened and exagerrated.
Cartoonish
if it weren't so carnal
and really there in front of you.
Moving so fast, they stand still.
A Speedster is easy to rip off,
they never know where anything is.
And they do.
Constantly ripping each other off
like a mutated Trobriand Islander Commune,
consisting of lighters, tools,
and drugs.
But they can be kind.
They need new material constantly
to keep from cannabalizing each other entirely.
Their networks expand throughout the city,
the state, the sountry, the world.
Recyclers, loonies, wire-strippers,
car-part stealers, bike theifs,
building destroyers, the list goes on and on.
An invisible network of people,
a mafia even,
connected only by virtue of the fact
that they are all addicted to
the same chemical:
MethAmphetamine.
Like the internet,
a constantly changing network,
new nodes stopping and
being created constantly.
But somehow the drug runs them all
as a whole, coherantly,
for the past forty years or so.
And by the looks of it,
well on into the future.
The bodies conected to the
Speed Spirit
only grows in number
every year.

And It's girth looms.