It's Me

There must be fifty ways to leave your lover,
but I only needed one.
It's not you. It's me.
Only this time, it really was.
I'm not convinced you understood.
I feel cold now.
I want you to hold and kiss me and help me
recite poetry and get drunk.
But you can't. That's the point.
So, is that all there is?
I am alone in myself,
to be cold and drunk in myself, and weep indecently?
I feel harsh blue inside. I feel wrong.
I'm sorry, sweet smile and clever laugh.
I'm sorry, untidy locks.
I'm sorry sweet lips and eyes
(thighs) and fingertips.
I'm sorry that you aren't here
to help me forgive myself.