Midnight on Monday

I am exhausted,
 And the winter is already long.
 I loved what I loved
 And I had what I lost
 And never —
 Had at all.
 The symmetry's astounding
 And the thing that I've learned
 — And can't ignore —
 Is that everybody leaves at once
 Open a window, and they all head for the door.
 These are the killing days
 Slowed down by the rush of routine
 You're here,
 Then you're gone,
 You come back,
 And I accept the terms of your return
 But I'm wrong to acquiesce
 So gently.
 Before long
 You're rising from the floor
 You look at me as you put on your shoes
 So that I know you'll put your coat on too
 — There's the door.
 You drink me dry,
 You accuse me of poison,
 The rumors have ripened on the vine
 And now they're anybody's cocktail
 Cheers, darling, cheers!
 From what I hear,
 We've really, really done it this time.
 You're everything I'm not
 You take the difference out on me
 And the sum of two such things
 Is apparently
 Nothing
 We are apparently
 Nothing
 — Where's the door?
 These are the killing days
 Slow me down.
 Slow me down.