Wasted Fix

Wasted moments suck us dry
as with junkie desperation I dive in
gambling it all for an ill-timed fix.
Cheap and shallow, I use up my chance -
with a trip, a fumble, a boring quiet we
exchange banal pleasantries
and then we have to go.

Now empty, cursing, at the silence
where you used to be
Rife with disappointment, crushed
by the dissatisfaction of a fleeting moment lacking magic
Meaningless 
A great disservice to this rare ghost from a gleeful past
and the soul-twined magic we
once had.

I withdraw into my solitude
Stinging with rejection, fighting desolation
Crank tired old hands on my liar's clock
Counting days, weeks, months unknown
until the day we speak again
another chance to do it right
until it's something worth remembering
Not just another over-eager mistake.

You exist to me as heroin and
if Skype is my syringe
there is never enough.