Halving

The marginalization of me from the edge of my breath 
quietly whispers me toward some nameless, middle future.

Life is a missive'd terror bodied of stars –
their pressures pulling votive thoughts toward Nothing's richness;

that coverlet-ink spills its blood into my heart:
as I rest it wrests and I bathe in a tearing spleandor.

I wait and weight on its conscience, I, dog-tailed blight of middle-road thoughts
while time spies without envy upon my dancing ancestors.

I am the sickness of old and empty hatreds, disirer of sleepy patience.

Edit: forgot to include feedback links!

1: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9e3hma/to_the_friends_i_never_had_first_submission/e5lxufw/

2: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9b0scw/forest_of_rifles_feedback_appreciated/e50wvrh/