I Lick My Wounds Just To Taste The Iron

Placid by discretion, I’ve had the means to act out
But kept my tongue bloody.
Words unsaid became my scarred tissue,
Leaving abrasions so thin I’d sooner forget them
Yet once you speak, they become fresh wounds again.
How many taste buds have I lost?
The remaining ones still recall the taste of iron;
That, at least, 
Has never left me.

-k.r.r.