Bells ring; drums, ring; hell, even freedom rings.
This is not a ring.
More akin to a whistley whine.
Or a whiny whistle?

That never stops.
It’s not a pulsating, or a sireny whine;
It’s one, single, unbroken note,
Like a dead guy slumped over his car horn.

That’s always there.
I can’t ever not hear it.
Even when I’m not listening to it,
I’m still hearing it.

It’s not deafening.
I still hear the chirps of crickets, the coo of an infant.
I hear everything. And I also hear this.
It’s like putting ketchup on your ketchup.

Many things in this life are fleeting;
Here today, gone tomorrow.
Friends, lovers may leave, but never you,
Tinnitus, my lifetime companion.

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