This is so messed up

These will be the poems that become famous when I die in obscurity.

Both are untitled at the present time.

1)
Life slows down
but time speeds up and I'm
left
standing
here. I have ground to a halt,
frozen in a time where each tick
tock creates a thin red line on
bare flesh. Stop.

Questions hang limp and flaccid;
What's the point? When it's only
an illusion.
To fight, to live, to breathe, to be -
is just another brush stroke
on a canvas painted with blood.
It merges into one with each tick,
tock goes the blood-flecked clock.

2)
Open the floodgates and pour me out.
Watch as disappointment falls
like rain and I am washed
of all these thoughts
and failings.

A bright red scream left
in my wake, with silence
burrowing in your ears.

It's me, just behind those
newspaper grey eyes,
the print draining down
to leak from my mouth. Teeth
stained with ink and regret.
It's over,
at least
it's over.