Tinnitus

There's a ring in my head,
I wish you could hear,
I think it's from a lost marriage,
Or a telephone no one picked up.

It could be God calling to say,
"I miss you."
Or a statistic calling to say,
"Goodbye."

Maybe it's the disoriented sound of
A first-world thinker,
As oxytocin breeds bacteria,
And discontent.

Maybe it's a shitty requiem
For all the people
That should be dead
But aren't.

Or perhaps it's just Tinnitus,
And I don't need to worry.