She Said 'save Yourself' Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

My friend,
if you mean save my mortal soul
(before the pass/fail test
when I decay
for pre-paid bliss)
or face the heated hole,
I'll run the risk-
I'm Sorry,
I won't play.
Or do you mean
I ought to hoard my goods to barter
in the market of the tough?
Or how I should survive
the world of shoulds?
Addictions say
there never is enough.
Or do you mean
I ought to bide my time,
as if I am a resource to conserve,
for all too soon
I will be past my prime?
(I doubt if I am worthy
to preserve)
Do I need rescuing?
It's plain to see
that no one's saving me,
my friend, but me.