I don't know, it could be a start of a story.

The taste of blood remains here. Between teeth and teeth, tongue and throat. It's fascinating, for how close it is to me, for which I can easily observe it right here. I am not saying that I love it, I mean, it rot reminds me of the situation where I am. Because I am trapped here, under the huge, dark well, without water or anything to eat. And for any good, it is the taste of blood that reminds me to find a way out. But how? All surrounding me are smooth* stones covered with moss, and nothing else. Disable to remember the reason why I'm here, out of ideas how to rescue myself, tired and sick, I sit here. There is nothing I can do.

(You said smoothy stones, which is not a proper adjective)