What am I?

 I soak up everything around me, you, them, none
left of me after I am done, they're done
piling up their burdens on my feather shoulders
flying up and crashing down upon comely boulders
Can you tell I've had enough,
trick question, you can never even take a rough
guess, I keep it all inside, boiling and simmering
summer cauldron, ransack their evenings with shimmering
sparkle and glitter,
making jokes with plastic teeth as the insides wither.
They partake in a flesh-eating feast
blood turns lovely, no beauty around this beast
trudging along hallways of empty commotion
searching for the potent, elusive happiness potion.
Why do I, of all, must suffer this fate?
Tales of miserly oblations told much too late
and now it's open for all who wish to peak in
biting the sneering tongues they speak in
hiding behind the very shadows that burnt them
walking barefoot on the very thorns that hurt them
Why must we repeat our stories?
drink the broth of lies, listen to harebrained theories?
Speak now, I must, and end all that is yet to begin
bring it to a boil, this unabated churning within
Back, back in a circle, catching the ends not here
I am the Toulouse of godmen charging at each other in fear 
It isn't easy, maybe it is, no it isn't, yes?
a wound festering in my wrists, crimson chalice,
to the ends of the world if this might reach, God bless.