Verbose ink

I am learned in an artless form
to take these static fabrics
and construe them with your webs.

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My lessons grow into episodic torture
where you review my performance,
carving my mistakes through my cells.

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I am now an author of your body
but I have no control, I only have
a scornful vestige satiating his demand.

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I've become a bin for your excessive and
overly rich taste, and you dig at me like
I am the answer to your chilling device.

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You have ossified my brain
and I can't distinguish the charge,
it's just one disorder of its own.