Though the dispensary only opened in July, the Aranzullos already need money to keep operating and pay the $30,000 fee to renew Euphorium’s three cannabis licenses. And so they now wonder: Is it worth it?

“It’s going to come to the point where it might be better to sell out altogether,” Marco said. “It’s not like I can go to a bank to get a working capital loan. I’ve already maxed out what I have. We need an investor.”

In the years since Massachusetts legalized first medical, then recreational, cannabis, the money tree has dried up. Few investors have made a profit, and the industry is approaching an inflection point: Scores of businesses failed outright, and many that remain are struggling. A seemingly inevitable “gold rush” turned out instead to be a fleeting opportunity, especially for minority-owned ventures that comprise only a sliver of the market.

“We‘re in a state of emergency,” said Meg Sanders, founder of Canna Provisions in Holyoke and Lee. “People want to hand over the keys.”

Bills are piling up for wholesalers, landlords, and the taxman. Nationwide, at least $6 billion in debt owed by marijuana businesses is set to mature soon, cannabis research firm Whitney Economics found, and less than one-third of all ventures turn a profit. Because cannabis remains illegal at the federal level, the usual tools to help faltering businesses — bank loans, tax write-offs, and reorganization in bankruptcy court — are off-limits to the pot industry.

Sanders said that in Holyoke, where marijuana was once touted as a tool for economic revival, desperate dispensaries are looking to sell to competitors. Few are flush enough to buy them.

Massachusetts regulators acknowledge the difficult market conditions, but believe state rules are not to blame. They point to indicators that business will only expand: Consumption is at record levels, as sales surpassed $1.6 billion in 2024, and marijuana harvests have tripled in five years. The Cannabis Control Commission is preparing to allow social consumption lounges, expand home delivery, and improve cannabis testing requirements.

“We are still seeing significant growth and significant interest,” CCC Commissioner Bruce Stebbins said.

But success stories in legal weed are scarce. At least 60 Massachusetts marijuana businesses have closed, with more than a third of those shuttering in the last year, CCC data shows.

At the heart of the problem is an imbalance between supply and demand. Massachusetts growers produce 2 million more pounds each year than consumers purchase, Whitney found, and there are too many retailers, to the point where dispensaries vying to undercut competitors are selling pre-rolled joints for a few dollars. Some log just $2,000 in sales a day, scarcely enough to cover operating costs.

This is not where anyone thought the marijuana market would be. In 2018, the success of the state‘s first recreational dispensary in Brooklinesuggested demand for legal weed would strengthen with time, and a nascent industry could balance the promises of profitability with a vow to do right by communities harmed by the war on drugs.

But those assurances have been cramped.Dreams of nationwide legalization under the Biden administration have ebbed since President Trump took office, and tumult at the CCC over its leadership has stymied change. State requirements that many businesses oppose remain stubbornly in place, such as thickets of security cameras, expansive storage systems, and pricey employee registration standards. And exorbitant impact fees due to communities that house marijuana companies continue to take a toll, costing entrepreneurs thousands in legal fees.

The erratic regulatory landscape puts legal operators at a disadvantage against an underground market for marijuana, as well as the highly-potent but unregulatedhemp products available at corner stores, said Steve Reilly, head of government relations at Massachusetts-based retailer INSA. Many businesses assumedthose products would be quashed by now or folded into the legal market.

“The hope was to win against the black market and have a well-regulated industry with reasonable supply and demand,” he said. “That is not what panned out.”

When Massachusetts and other states made cannabis legal,traditional investors steered clear over fears of a federal crackdown. Businesses turned to marijuana-focused lenders, such as Gotham Green Partners, which offered capital at high interest rates with short repayment deadlines, and the largest cannabis companies raised money by going public in Canada.

“It was just like the beginning of the internet to me,” said Randy Maslow, cofounder of iAnthus, among the first operators to enter the Canadian stock market. “Everyone was overvalued. You get off the ground, you go public, no one is expecting you to make revenue right away.”

Some never did. Few, if any, public multistate operators — such as Ascend or Cresco Labs — have money to acquire smaller players.Longstanding efforts by cannabis companies to gobble up market share have floundered, because the “volume play in the market is over,” said Payton Shubrick, owner of 6Bricks dispensary in Springfield.

The brunt of the pain has fallen on small-dollar investors, family and friends of marijuana entrepreneurs whose investments came with fewer strings attached. Paying them back is not a priority, or even a possibility, said cannabis investor and consultant Dennis Kunian.

“People are asking, ‘How am I going to pay my mom back? How do I pay my brother back?‘” he said. “‘I don’t care about the New York investors. I care about my parents.’”

Now, nearly every cannabis business is feeling the effects: Cultivators are growing less marijuana,leaving facilities and farms barren. The owners of two Boston dispensaries said they suspended executive pay to keep paying sales staff. Some businesses are using cash reserved for operations to pay taxes instead, so they can renew their operating licenses.

It’s created an environment where suppliers increasingly demand to be paid upfront, squeezing startups in particular,said Derrell Black, founder of Let’s Talk Weed events in Boston.

“Everyone is getting treated as if they don’t pay their bills,” he said. “It’s really killing our industry.”

In the meantime, debts are mounting. The Department of Revenue seized property at Rebelle Dispensary in Great Barrington in February over more than $400,000 in unpaid taxes. Happy Valley’s Gloucester location owed $3 million in federal taxes in March, according to tax liens compiled by the Boston Business Journal.

Frank A. Segall, chairman of the cannabis industry group atlaw firm Blank Rome in Boston, expects to see more receiverships, where a third party manages a marijuana company’s assets and pays back creditors. Segall helped draft the state guidelines two years ago, knowing that a growing number of cannabis businesses would need to liquidate or restructure, then helped shepherd the state‘s first cannabis receivership in 2023.

“If you want an industry that can attract capital, you have to have protective rights for creditors,” Segall said.

Revolutionary Clinics, for example, went into receivership recently with nearly $10 million in debt, including $76,000 in unpaid security fees.

Existing businesses are advising new upstarts to get out while they can, or rethink their business models. But dozens of license applications are still pending, while legalization of cannabis legalization in neighboring New York and Connecticut has undercut demand here. In this era of dramatic contraction, some industry insiders are pushing for a moratorium on licenses to allow the market to rebalance; others hope a sorely-needed line of government funds will save those deserving of support.

Only a few dozen operators have benefited from the Social Equity Trust Fund, a state-run pool of money available to select companies. Those recipients have seen “life-changing results,” said Devin Alexander, co-owner of Rolling Releaf.

His marijuana delivery company struggled for years to break even. He financed out of his own pockets and battled officialsover regulations to let businesses deliver cannabis door to door. Then, a few months ago, Alexandm to hire more drivers, pay back investors, and simply stay above er received a $500,000 grant from the fund, which allowed hiwater as others flounder.

“It was a pipe dream for us,” Alexander said. “I cried for three days.”

Diti Kohli can be reached at diti.kohli@globe.com. Follow her @ditikohli_.