where do we go from here?

Sometimes I’m not sure.  Sometimes I think the best is behind us.  For once the future doesn’t seem like a prospect so much as a jail. 

I have to make decisions and I’m not real sure I want to, I know I’m not very good at it. 

I can’t even finish a poem, here’s a revision:

Sometimes I feel like broken glass. 

I need to melt, become liquid,

boil down what I am to something the consistency of caramel.

At least then, I’ll know how to stick to something.

appropriate don’t you think?