Milk Maiden; please Save Me

I just can't do this anymore...my seat is beckoning me to get off of it and reach for another place to be. The whispers have gotten to me and have created cracks and seals in my skull that make my head pound with anger and guilt-ridden anxiety. How am I supposed to live up to these expectations when I am stuck in 2nd degree waiting for the blind to see me. How am I supposed to live with grace when all I am doing is scrubbing clean the fountain that you truly, and I mean truly only see as dirty. Where is the branch that fell and hit you on the head back when you thought you had it all figured out and had it all typed up ready for press and print, all to see, all to read and misinterpret degenerately. For fuck's sake, this service has gotten me spinning in circles. Set up, eat up, clean up. I am paying for this, I am paying you, I am giving my time here to be looked at with critical glasses and never enough glances. And I left all behind me to pay my dues for the paycheck that comes with clocking in and clocking out day in & through. Driving to and from, here early, running late...running in circles, never really feeling the actual date. Your fortress has been cracking at it's seams for some time and you never seem to really fill those cracks up with ease. The truth seeps and wanders down the blades of your shoulder and helps you to think that maybe all this back-breaking work is worth something, enough to wonder? All this blood, sweat, and tears is what you are actually after. But the day goes on and the work must be done in order to produce the affect that we need. To produce something that was never needed to begin with. Busy work, work of the devil, work of the malice that seemed to be gaining an ounce of freedom and sanctity. Consuming your very heart for food on the table, addictions relayed and Netflix or some dumb cable reality T.V. How about a remodeled kitchen, new floors, and a trip overseas. Is this all you ever wanted ? And what about the tales lurking in the shadows, did you ever read them and think that maybe this is why you can't seem to stop and look at your life honestly? No, really...just stop and do nothing. But rather use things, fill it up with white flour, eggs, dairy and cheese. The milk of the Maiden, here to comfort your dis-ease. Here to cradle you in her bosom and let you rest her head on top of pasty-white cottage cheese thighs; a suit made only for milking everything under the Sun in soured distrust and needy lust. I wasn't made for this, but you made me believe the tale you've passed on through generations of recipes and sentimental tendencies. I could easily burn everything around me and feel more free than I ever have, even with you looking at me. Even with you worrying about me, especially.  A rebel with a cause, a fighter with no more than a tear left to add to endless Sea of never enough's and hey, look at me, Ma & Pa ! I want to live like a Tree and swim in the Sea, without an agenda of sorts or a need for pity and sympathy. I want to attend my own Party, where flowers grow wild and ideas are thrown into the sky and lost in the endless Galaxy of my own beating heart, with glittery giggles and tears made of salt water.