No intentions here

The iron stain spreads like mold on bread.
the hot sticky sap of my body slowly drains from my open wound and
i wonder what the blood carries with it when it leaves the comfort of this broken person
and becomes exposed to a cold non alive world.
once that red creek trickles beyond the path that it has become so used to,
that vein that pulses and pushes it in the right direction,
it can not survive without another to feed it.
does it carry a hint of soul on its back?
does the pungent odor of its rust colored mass mask what really lies inside it?
yes, i can feel the frosted air that flows in and out of my lungs slipping away into the still atmosphere around me and a little hope goes with it as it seeps through the gaps of my teeth.
the blood moves slow now.
my rib cage cant hold me together anymore.
who am i to ask it to try?
yes, the dark has frosted my eyes like steam on a mirror.
there is no reflection to gaze apon,
there is no soul left to define who i am.
and there are no intentions here.