"A Glass of Whiskey, Please."

Am I in the wrong story?

A little plant stands tall between cracked pavements,
Blood gushes out from her cracked lips too
As she whispers apologies
And curses her pointless state.

"Am I in the wrong story? "
She asks.
Oh how she wishes God would walk inside her room one day and tell her what to do.
Oh how she prays for clearer skies and compasses that actually work.