I Raped My Notebook

I raped my notebook.
I desecrated every page with a thick black ink.
I laughed as I scrawled all over it with the tip of my pen, so maliciously.
And I kept scribbling a painful insignia on every page;
leaving a scar on every tiny piece of pulp in the paper.
A tattoo.
And she screamed "No!" but I persisted.
I stole her credibility.
I stole her virginity.
And then I told her that no one would ever want her again because she was unclean and no longer pure.
I stole her virginity and then I waved it in front of her very eyes.
I rubbed it in her face and she cried and cried for days.
Still every night I grabbed a pen,
broke in her spine,
turned to an empty page and started scribbling.
I sprawled across the pages every single, minute thought I had throughout the day.
And every night I wrote she cried all the while.
Still I kept violating the pages: my pen being both phallic and mechanical.
And I had written up a storm.
But when I got to the last page I noticed a bitter compliance.
Either she was shedding quiet tears or she wasn't crying anymore.
So I said "Hey baby, why so quiet?"
And she sighed with a large huff and replied
"I am sooooo sick of listening to this shit!"
I don't blame her.
My grammar is atrocious.
My spelling is even worse.
In actual fact,
I'm not much of a writer at all, only a creature of habit.
Only two sentences were said but my figurative testicles were removed by an inanimate object.
Testicles that I don't have to rape her with, but that is besides the point.
Believe me when I say I would if I could.
Great...I am now the only all female eunuch on planet earth.
So I sighed a great huff,
majestic in comparison to hers and stuck her back on the shelf.
My credibility was raped by my notebook and I am never getting it back.