We're Skeletonised

You'd like to improve?

Oh, there's so many possibilities, but no-one's distinguished in a heavy coat, in a cotton wool wrap. You're packed away, drawn upon the crease of our map, so when just one mote happens across your beam of light your leaves will wilt, your passions will steam and you'll have no-one to tell but the infinities...

...but we'd prefer you closer to null. We'll tell you this: you mustn't eat sellotape as it sticks to the tongue, stings the palate, which hinders the voice; you've sung of the distant cape - touching, but we're at home beneath the ridges of the solipsist dome, clung to the ribbons between the bumps of your skull...

...but simply because we work for free, we'll tear strips off you, we'll feed them to the stars - you'll gravitate to our way of sin, and if still you only cower in agony, jars of your nerves will grow fraught; when pain subsides you'll have clarity of thought, then we'll stretch your skin to as far as you can see...

...but be aware you'll be recognised, your every action anticipated, grokked intimately and pure in instinctual, automatic truth; you're a failure locked in bliss that's heaven-sent, a shell in sea-foam, drowned, you're not transparent and we resent that because we're skeletonised.