Tepid Tea

Lying on my bed, drinking tepid tea,
I ponder our decisions, and what they did to me.
I would be much warmer if I got under the sheets,
But shivering suits my mood; the chill is bittersweet.
I could see more clearly if I flicked the light switch on,
But then I’d have to see the truth, which is that you’re gone.
I would be more comfortable if food passed through my lips,
But when you’re starving, not just heartbroken, the pain will somewhat shift.
I’d feel better about myself if I put on clean clothes,
But when you fabricate a reason, a portion of the pain goes.
I’d find solace in my friends if I picked up the ringing phone,
But every fiber in me says this is a time to be alone.
I might let go of the blame if I thought things through,
But to do that would be to cast part of the blame on you.
So I’ll stare at my window shades while my tea goes ice cold,
Lying and being miserable at the words I’ve just been told.