Should My Day Be Spoilt By My Pen?

Move my hands,
please toil across the table
and reach for that damned pen
should the hill of books finally enable.

Write my pen,
the damned pen's jammed
and reach for another damned pen
across the table my hands travel.

Grab that pen,
move my hands,
the cylindrical comedian laughs
and how my mood instantly cuffed.

Throw the pen,
a new one he lends,
and suffer I not the discriminal
procedure of infernal codes hell-sent.

Please my hands,
not that damned pen,
and suffer my heart the squalor
of but the hundred thousand lifetime's rants.