Pencil

I am but a minor in the material world.
Boring, straight and a really black lead within me.
A pawn for the sake of communication.
There are many variations of me.
From the wonderfully handcrafted
to the mechanically manufactured.
But we are all the same.
Slaves to humankind.
Forced to do what we are supposed to do.
No ability to fight back.
To resist the grappling of their coarse fingers
as they manipulate me to do things.
From long usage, I began to wither.
From sharp reflexes, I burned out to be blunt.
The blackness of lead as comparable to my inner pain.
For me, an object of manipulation.
I am a pencil.