Incoherent

There is a difference between a safe place and a prison, 
but you can't always quite tell.
I fail every step of the way, 
in this path made of  cracked glass . 
Cracked from the weight of your choices. 
I count my steps, try to slow down or speed up. 
It's always wrong. I end up breaking the glass. 
And take the blame. 
The blame for the glass that many others tried to crash before me.

I am alone in this space. 
I look through the broken glass. 
I could grow flowers in these hollow spaces. 

But your glass path keeps trying to cut me in half.
And I keep breaking it.