Breathing with my best intentions

Breathing with my best intentions,  
skin-tight veins crossed multiple for luck.  
Seeking a hill for shelter,  
only finding flat line fields.  
Clouds emit melancholy neon fumes,  
from a abused mouth ripped open by the wind.  
I was never prepared for the second attack,    
stance sorrowful, dripping defeat.  
   
Hearing the wind smirk set my fangs sharp.    
Crouching low, I gnaw through the    
taught puppet strings on my spine.  
Throwing away the offer of survival,    
in favor for the pills to    
nurse a deranged spirit.  
Staring down the glare    
of a thousand gun barrels,  
watching as they scurry back home,  
to the fathomless pit of my mind.  
   
Sowing luck onto my sleeve,    
(just in case I need it).  
I shuffle into battle, wading through    
the mistakes I've made, they cling to me    
in hope that I can save them.  
I turn the gun barrels-and shoot-    
being the savior I am at heart.  
Prepared to face the wind,  
I pounce.