I wouldn't sail this ship if I were you
The itch of the if
At the back of your brain,
Returning and turning,
Again and again.
If only I hadn’t,
If only I had -
If only I wasn’t
So mad or so sad,
If I could have faked it
Until it was true;
If I wanted the things
Others wanted me to;
What if I was wrong?
Am I wrong even now?
Have my distant mistakes
Caused disaster somehow?
Or - what if those days
Had been just a bit colder,
Or I had been wiser,
Or stronger, or bolder?
You can’t slake it by scratching.
That spreads out the spot -
Draws your memory threads
Through its thick sticky knot.
Oh there’s words and there’s music,
The bottle, the spliff,
Things that drown out the sound
And the itch of the if.
But the sole cure is time,
Time and time ‘til it clears -
A medicine measured
In years upon years.
So seal it in stone
With a terrible glyph,
Drop it five fathoms deep -
But the itch of that if!
