I don’t understand why love should save. It’s sinking still Stills of whiskey, mellow bitter. Metal tinned, heavy and satisfying It makes you weep and rage and sleep. Aching toes and numb cheeks, silent sobbing into your pillow For reasons that haven’t come to you yet. Do you feel saved? For numbness? Dripping Gaping mouths, searching. Am I talking about love or a monster? We can’t tell. I won’t argue with results, fact sheets still dripping romantic slurs But I will argue that saving is not what you think it is. Mercy Is not what you think you’ve made it.