The high-pitched whine, a constant guest,

Uninvited, settling in my chest,

Then blooming outward, to my ear,

A phantom sound, both sharp and clear.

No outward source, no bell that rings,

Just inner chaos, the torment it brings.

A cricket's chirp in silent night,

A buzzing fly in fading light.

Sometimes a hiss, a steady stream,

Disturbing slumber, breaking dream.

A rushing tide, a whispered plea,

A symphony of misery.

I strain to hear the world outside,

But this internal current cannot hide.

Conversations blur, a muffled sound,

As this relentless hum surrounds.

I seek the quiet, yearn for peace,

For this incessant will not cease.

A hidden engine, ever near,

A constant whisper, filled with fear.

I try to mask it, music loud,

But still it lingers in the crowd.

A shadow clinging, day by day,

This tinnitus, that will not stray.

Oh, for a moment, just to know,

The blissful silence, soft and low.

To hear the world, unburdened, free,

From this persistent tyranny.