Had

Had I a thought inside my weary head
It might have been of you. But then of course
I haven't, have I? No, I have instead
A strange compound of aches that take their source
Perhaps from you as well, but how can I
Be sure of it? I cannot think enough
Ever to be sure. My mind will lie
Off of its normal track, out in the rough,
Wandering in weary tracks of pain
Without the touch of any sentience.
Whatever may have slid inside my brain,
I'm sure it never will make any sense.
But if it does, it will be since you knew
That thought that wasn't might've been of you.