Behind The Grey Stained Windows

I was told to give blood generously, and deliberately rip apart as much as I could and take it as my own. It was a valuable (object?) and had greedy humans reaching for it with all they had, and later on giving it out like they were free samples. I never enjoyed blood, and hated giving it away. It was this feeling, I almost felt as if I were about to fall. A split second of
(excitement?)
(terror?)
(wonder?)
(horror?)
and it was over. Thank goodness, by then, it was over. Receiving blood was different. It was just
(amazing?)
(confusing?)
(unbearable?)
and even though it felt okay, it didn't feel right. Blood isn't injected like
(medicine?)
(painkillers?)
(poison?)
it was just given and stolen and taken. That's about as deep as blood gets. Blood isn't
(literal?)
(beautiful?)
(disgusting?)
(scary?)
and it definitely isn't the red flow in your veins. Blood is something I will never crave, let alone
(taste?)
(destroy?)
(love?)
(understand?)
but it's the reason I'm not completely
(alone?)
(dead?)
(alive?)
(sane?)
and I am thankful for its presence, even if I do not crave it as much as my
(friends?)
(allies?)
(enemies?)
(imposters?)
(alibis?)
crave it. I have (survived?) but have I
(lived?)
(given?)
I guess I haven't given (anything?) worthwhile. And upon these steps I watch. And I watch.

The faded windows, the blood I will never understand. And the figure inside.

Notes

should I continue this story? (ps the whole story isn't going to be so "questionable" like this, it's just a new twist I got from the King books cx)