Colorblindness Draped Crimson

Sorry for anyone who understands this, I hope you have healed. Should I keep the red?

A needle stabs my eyes
corners, burning,
Such pain and discomfort
surely would bring blood forth
I thought so
and with the space
in front of me, indeed,
rendered blurry
fatigue weighing everything down
the small trickle of liquid
carves a channel down my face
It must be blood
Because as it made my chin wet and
Gravity rushed it down my neck
and now i can feel it in my
Throat
blood filling up it, drowning
whatever voice i had
left.
hot, rageful, searing
it claws up the walls of flesh
up up up
to my mouth forcing
itself out
In a silent scream.
it has to be blood
since attempting to escape this
strange, cho
ki
n
g liquid;
the whole, pure embodiment of agony;
was a war lost in itself.
Stinging
dried scars left in its wake
victory scars, as one says,
though i
lost the battle.
the wet substance trailed off
So i reached down,
lips kissing searing wounds
awaiting the metallic red flavor
yet it was
salt
that
stained my tongue instead.
This was not
blood.