Someone once told me
that when you hear a ringing in your ear
it is the sound of that one pitch
dying forever
That you’ll never hear it again

And I never tried to find out
if this was really true, I just
wrapped it into
the mystery of my body
and began to imagine
my own head carrying
hundreds of dead bells,
one for every thing
I will never have again

Somewhere there is a list, it is probably
in no language, it is
probably addjacent to my heartbeat
it is probably
everything that has ever
stopped wanting me back
But I have infinite room, it seems
for bells that can’t ring
anymore, I worry
about leaving them

Apocalypse carnival mistress, essayist, and animated story maker.

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