thanatology

The voice so loud
like a jackhammer.
It bellows and vibrates
across the office walls
to reverberate
within my bones.
I painstakingly paint
every detail of your
decaying corpse
on my mental canvas.
My thanatology
begins well before
the end of this meeting.
I survey my neighbors
as they hide each wince
that coincides with your bellicose brays
and know I am not alone
before I head back to my cubicle
and ineffectually stew and plot.
Never would it come to fruition,
but inside my skull
I am an avenging angel
with a requisition form
and white out.