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Max Motroni, a student in my creative writing class at Endicott College writes a poem that is very germane these days – with our ever increasing substance abuse problems.

Track Marks

He looked down at his forearm,

Pale white, No freckles or birth marks.

Still untouched like a blank canvas

With the option to keep clean

Or stain himself forever.

He picked up a small, grey needle,

That was held in place by the syringe,

Simultaneously tightening his fist.

Ready to alter the innocence that graced

His arm, that graced his whole body.

When the needle entered his arm,

He was unaware of the long journey

That just begun.

A journey that would be dark,

One that might not have a light at the end.

Purple, Red, Pink, Yellow outlines on the scabs,

The track marks covered his forearm.

These scars told the story of his journey,

From dope sickness, to mother’s tears.

A stain that has been forever injected.
— Max Motroni

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