My Unrequited Passions

I am the minion of oblivion,
in servitude to mental shadows,
abandon to fate’s cruelest pleasures,
left a faceless image
among those I have helped.

Do they show me mercy
over the ways they cause me pain?
Never is the whisper
my soul moans in dire lament.

Everyday they inject my body
with their small steel pins
then pound on my head
until the pain is unbearable,
just to make me regurgitate those objects
that it might bond their silly strips.

Yet have they no heart
over how it hurts so deeply
when they give more attention
unto that simpleton upstart, the paper clip,
lusting over his talent
as if he were truly capable of my permanent seal.

And then to abandon me after each faithful chore
so they can socialize
with that wretch brown nosing coffee maker.

So cruel it is to watch them drool over his juices,
even though they have no lasting quality,
utterly ignoring my steadfast gifts,
which never require any supplements in order to please.

Now perhaps has come my greatest humiliation
for I have heard rumors the new copier
has been empowered with my talent.

I can only pray my desperate plea
this latest insult
will not curse me to be buried alive in a drawer tomb.