Song of the Channeler

Lost and repeatedly found; Gnawed at and broken
And yet I am his most prized possession.
His teeth scar me, his anger breaks me, But
Without me there will be no glory

Others have touched his hands, I am not so proud
To believe I only can channel his mind.
And yet, his own hands cut me with his knife
Others are left merely to mechanical rape

But I am murdered sweetly every time I am used
Every time I am put to my purpose, a little of me dies
A little less remains, a little less sharp and alive
Until once again I am mutilated, to become once again as he first desired me.

Sometimes I think he is musing on me
Though I know how ridiculous that is
And I cannot read his thoughts, even as
They are acted upon me

This white space is my entire world.
The only worlds I am permitted to inhabit are those I build from my own blood
And ever he stands above me, harsh or piteous,
Directing my slow decay.

And yet, I shall never complain of my fate
Though I am but a stub now, I live on in the dust
Of his vision. In myself there has been written a great symphony
And I alone have truly seen that poetry.

i can guarante you have completely misinterpreted this poem
and i need a better title again