My Fountain Pen—Sonnet

The pen I write
gets stuck at a point
no other pen in sight 
the  imagination disjoints
I sit up straight  
my anger takes a flight.

I hurl the pen down 
the nib  bends 
impossible, I frown
that be the end 
I scream. it is a run down
cursing my inability to send.

My assignment remains bare
Do not know when I can share?