Do you even read my poetry anymore?

We're in an empty field
filled with snow
and your breath.
And you cry
because it's not
what you needed yet.
I can't give gifts
upon gifts
upon slivers of my soul.
Because I'm not whole anymore.
so let's open that door.
See me leave on a whim.
See me leave with your ring.
See me leave when it's mostly likely to leave you a good sting.