Witness Protection Program

It's a funny thing isn't it, how you're all over the place, When you say, that you're just trying to find yourself; While realizing, that maybe you don't want to be any place at all, And don't really want to be found. Even while shouting your name, into all the crazy winds Always pulling you in this direction, or that. But you're so afraid of boredom; it's been haunting Since the cradle, threatening to descend A wave of darkness, to cover hope and creativity, To snuff out your very identity, as half-formed as it still feels. A depression of which, must have been your caul at birth; And will no doubt be your same shroud, at death. You sometimes wonder if you've been running away, for so long That you've forgotten exactly what it is, that you're so afraid of And if it's worth all the hassle of continuously running, In your own witness protection program: Let's break all the mirrors, again.. But you know, that habit has you so firmly in it's grip, There's no escaping now; it's too late, you're not a child now: No fairy tale can step in to save you, from that bullet. And where is your god, you might ask, in all of this? You evicted him so long ago, That he signed off on your lease- And there's nobody else wants to own your rabid soul, anymore- Not even you; and that's got to be the saddest thing of all.