How It Feels When Im Listening To Will Wood

how it feels when im listening to will wood

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cause why not posting poorly drawn sketches

More Posts from Rumograph and Others

rumograph

4 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

3 months ago

There are flat earthers on the TV and I'm fading in and out. The stars are a clock and I count them in my head until my lungs are polluted with constellations. All I can do is breathe, feel them spin in my throat. My wrists hang limp over the side of the sofa; magnetic declaration, geocentric distortion, some sort of heaven. The words drag themselves across the walls and I still see them when I close my eyes. Is this the final experiment? Is this the end for me? I don't know, at this point I'm more focused on keeping myself breathing. I'm lying dead on a hill of my own making, and god, the foxes outside are screaming like hell, but nobody even raises their head. There are flat earthers on the TV and a dead hound in the living room, and I'm fading in and out.

there are flat earthers on the tv // 16.01.2025

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writeblr writing i dont know poetry poem original poem rumos poetry

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rumograph

4 weeks ago

drew this when i really liked bigtop burger & decided yeah ill put my ocs in here

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my art art oc art traditional art ocs pen bigtop burger oc lenmon oc daniel

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rumograph

4 weeks 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

10 months ago

actually drawing him in different outfits for once

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my art art traditional art original art oc daniel i need to start drawing full bodies again

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rumograph

2 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

2 months ago

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disco elysium kim kitsuragi harry du bois

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rumograph

2 weeks ago

i learned about sin before i learned about love
and now my heart beats nothing but blood
i have not prayed in years, but the lord's prayer
sits closer on my tongue than an i love you, and
the words will always sit mangled at the back
of my throat in some way or another

i learned about how i am nothing before i learned that
maybe, maybe, i could've been something
so i spent my nights sobbing myself to sleep and
swallowing ink like it would cure me,
so the rest or my life will be lived with
the same words staining my mouth, and what if
i am nothing more than the bones in the driveway?
the remains of something not quite moral enough to mourn

i'm sorry i couldn't be loved into something tame
let alone something holy

hey. hey you. stop for a sec and write a poem. write it about whatever you want make it good make it bad idc. long or short. poignant or not. post it or put it in the reblogs or send it to a friend or keep it to yourself but sit for a little bit and write a poem. for the soul

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i dont know poetry poem original poem original poetry religious poetry 22.05.2025 rumos poetry aromantic poetry

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rumograph

3 weeks ago