But Simply That Is Not My Way Poem by Mark Heathcote

I could, but I won't confess I'm running out of breath
My heart has no more buoyancy left
I could dither and just silently drift away
But that is not my way
Please, please, won't someone believe me?

I might be punch-drunk, but I always fight on
Till the end, that's my way
I might confess I can't find my balance
My mental health is failing me most of my days
But what difference would my crying make?

I might be slightly egocentric
but that's only when it gets dark
and the dangers of not being able to swim
it sinks in when I'm temporally alone
I'm temporarily a disaster, swimming for home.

I could pray, but who would listen to me
My soul is a habitual doubter, a shipwreck
It's anchored in a landlocked harbour
With all its worthless cargo thrown over,
cursing the stationary ground as poisoned air.

I could confess, but won't? I'm running out of breath
My heart has no more buoyancy left
I could dither and just silently drift away
But that is not my way
Please, please, won't someone believe me?