Complains of my pen

Sighing at my worn down pen,

Its empty cartilage, its dried out nib.

I thought about casting it away,

In the trash, among the waste.

“Stop!" Cried my pen out loud.

"All these years I served,

Only to gain such a miserable end?

I've served when all abandoned you,

With all my ink and strength,

I kept your secrets and your pain.

I loved you much, that I turned every tear,

Into words that people would listen and hear!

Ungrateful human you certainly are,

I helped you overcome your fears,

I chained your demons and poisoned them with ink.

Truly unrequited are the feelings of the pen,

When first brought home, treated with utmost care.

Like a new bride or a porcelain doll.

Once all used up and all worn out,

'Throw it away!' You say, 'Throw it away!'

Is this what I get for my faithfulness?”

I stared at my old pen, and wept.

-complains of my pen.