I Love Drawing My Sona In Suits I Fear

i love drawing my sona in suits i fear

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my art art traditional art original art pen rumosona i need a suit antsona alien sona

More Posts from Rumograph and Others

rumograph

1 year ago

ok he's pissing my the fuck off now

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why does he do this mike patton is he trying to pick up a signal or something

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rumograph

11 months ago

im a couple days late to this but!! woah!!

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time to listen to this over and over and over ! the song titles are beautiful

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rumograph

3 months ago

i am hating this new tumblr layout so much. i dont have the words to describe how put off i am

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personal awful awful awful

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rumograph

1 year ago

finally got a tom waits record

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i need rain dogs ill get you someday mr waits

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rumograph

10 months ago

didnt know which one i liked better . take both

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my art art traditional art x men pen wolverine logan howlett no i cant be bothered to colour it properly

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rumograph

6 months ago

started playing the stanley parable today !!!

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personal but confusion ending freedom ending i dont play a lot of games ive been wanting to play this for a while ending ive got so far in order are apartment ending mariella ending museum ending will play more :]

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rumograph

8 months ago

can you tell i really like danios

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my art art traditional art pencil fishblr fish very fun lots of cool patterns ...

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rumograph

6 months ago

People don't understand what I mean when I say that I've died a million times. I'm in a train and in each carriage is a dead child. They are dragged off the train, one by one, and I can do nothing but watch. It's hard to tell a dead child from a living one sometimes. I get off at Camden and think about what casket they'll sleep in tonight.

When I get out of the train station, my mind is full of nothing but the dead. I think about the suicide pacts I made with my ex. I call her on the phone, say it's been a year since I last touched a blade. I spend the next morning prying the blood out of my fingernails. I revise the ways I'll die over and over. Three bullets in my throat, one for each child I missed. I light another cigarette.

I stumble through the market like I can't see two steps in front of me - in many ways, I can't. I spend too long looking at the wrong things, trailing my hands across the painting of Bowie, buying orange juice instead of the record I want, walking across the rainbow crossings over and over; there is a dead child in me and London makes him sick. His body hangs limp in every window I pass; you learn to deal with it, eventually.

Every twelve steps you take are someone's last. I stay at the Lockside until I'm gagging on my words and I can't feel the rain on my back. I taste it on every breath; I am dead in ways people don't understand and I will die in ways they wish they couldn't. Outside there are bodies floating in the river and only the ones already standing with one leg over see them. I stay inside for another hour or two.

On the way home, all I can hear is screaming. I've always hated the underground. The screeching dies before it can reach me and all that hits me is the sobbing behind it. The underground is a burial the same way the road is a cemetery. There is nothing in the windows but my reflection slumped and rotting in the seats across from me. I wish I could find it in myself to mourn but you can only die so many times and still feel something towards it.

camden market '07 [13.01.2025]

(first piece of writing of the year !)

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writeblr writing oh well I tried rumos poetry parasite days not sure how good the image is on this one what do i tag writing with

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rumograph

2 months ago

Pen and ink drawing of a gold barb fish with two tears coming out of its eyes, on a dark grey rectangle

:'(

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my art art traditional art pen fishblr fish waow 1k gold barb

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rumograph

2 months ago

i cradle festering wounds because don't i have to? at the end of the day, i was the one who filled myself with some kind of rot that can only be fixed by clambering over barbed wire and begging please, please don't let me go on like this

i carry the bullets that should've been theirs because god knows that they should've went more peacefully than they did. the blood i choke up means nothing compared to what i could have spared them from

the bullets i carry // chicken scratches

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writeblr writing poetry poem original poem rumos poetry 29.09.2024

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rumograph

is rumo real ?

the underground is a burial the same way the road is a cemetery

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