Each morning at work it starts.
That unquiet chatter that rattles the calmest of patience.
That one moment of clarity now gone.
The gathered thoughts gone astray.
Scattered about in every direction.
This loud obnoxious sound.
Echoing about , absorbing silence in a matter of minutes.
That one voice that for some reason or another.
Labeled as a menace, a void of emptiness that causes commotion just because.
A simple why only provokes this voice to carry on instead of grasping the hint that if you don't have anything to say, then it's best to keep quiet.
The thought of filling out a transfer just to get away grows more enticing day by day.
To gain a moments peace from the ramble of 8 hours a day.
The constant following and nagging.
The belly aching of a pebble, thrown front side up, falling, crashing into a pool of water.
Creating a constant ripple that spreads in every direction.
This was how he sent my thoughts in disarray each and every morning.
So much so, I began to fantasizing about duct tape

Along the lines of miscommunication war broke out.
A civil discord of peace mistaken for chaos.
The clatter of pins layered on one another, pulled from grenades, thrown at the last minute. shattered through the air.
Devouring everything it touched.
This was how I saw her heart.
Flung through the air.
Gripped firmly. Released by loose hands.
A explosion scattering dirt and grime.
A slight ticking pacing back and forth.
Debating the result of action.
Broke apart from shell and casing.
This was the end result of the nights she spent awake contemplating.
Was there ever room for compromise. Accepting reason as excuse.
This was the first time I noticed how stubborn hearts can be.
Doomed to explode at any given moment. Hearing every reason but their own. Detonation was imminent.
Her heart packed tight in shell and casing.
The smell of gun powder lingered in the air.
The sound of ammo being loaded in metal cartridges.
Jammed tight in automatic rifle.
For each bullet I loaded into the cartridge was a bit of reassurance that what I knew in my heart was right.
The fact that action spoke louder that words could be seen from every one of her grenades, the steam arising from the nose of my rifle in defense of why.
This was the sound of my heart firing shot after shot
Reigning from soot covered hands.
Not of hate. But as a means of trying to breakdown the wall of her understanding.
The sound of our argument could be heard from miles on end.
The ground soiled in yellow explosion covered with piece after piece of her heart.
The aftermath of bullets layered in thick walls.
There I stood in premeditated assault in belief that we were on separate sides defending  what we perceived as right.
Alone our boots shook the ground that trembled in fear.
Hidding behind walls completely missing the point that if we truly fought for the same cause,
Who'd truly win if we continued. Destroying nothing but ourselves in the process