"So Freud was right"

I can't help but feel im stuck in a prophetic dream

In a hospital you sit across me, in denial
Platlets dry on my skin, brown, but thats no ones worry
You scream at me to alieviate your sickness
Inadvertantly spitting a bitter powder that collect
Into a clean pile, on the glass table that seperates us
You, well aware of my love of bitter powders
But yet forgetting that its been years since ive loved
The poetic beauty in laying awake all night
Curious as to if my heart arythems are fatal or not
I moved past that years ago, and only in my concious memories
Can i find patience to let the blood flow
You tell me the free cells, fighting and dieing is only my fault
Yet i vigoursly maintain that the only blood on my wrist
Has been from broken knuckles and cut fists
Inside my mind, i call you veiled, raging fire
Incinerates all chance of whatever escapes my mouth
How does a fire burn atop glass in a sterile setting
Oxygen rich enviroment, most likely answer

You forgot how the challenger became a tragedy