The Cell Phone

A life of a cell without a living cell
is not much of a happy life at all.
You humans make my life a living hell
Every time you slip and make me fall.

In your back pocket is where I always ride.
You people make me vital to your life.
I sure don't think I ever leave your side...
You probably love me more than your own wife.

Every day you use me until I die.
At night your children throw me down the hall.
Yet I, of plastic, lack the eyes to cry
as you drain my life with every single call.

You press my buttons, good sir, you do.
If I could speak, I'd quickly let you know.
But since I will never be made of carbon too.
My great hate for you will never show.