just a taste

the boy, still a boy,
leaning back, half asleep,
the needle still in his hand,
nearby the rubber wrap
untied, snaked
beside his crumpled
legs, his bare feet.
a dot of blood where the point
went into his arm
stretched out.
the smile of sleep
is on his lips, the face
lineless and serene.
his veins are full
for now of heaven,
hell will come tomorrow.