Watching Always Sunny Again !! Drew Mac For The First Time

watching always sunny again !! drew mac for the first time

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my art art traditional art pencil mac mcdonald iasip it's always sunny in philadelphia always sunny expect more always sunny art when i can be bothered to draw again

More Posts from Rumograph and Others

rumograph

10 months ago

being self aware suuuucks like yeah this thought pattern/behavior is stupid and pointless and a symptom. i know this. [does it anyways

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rumograph

7 months ago

sometimes i forget drawing in colour can be fun

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my art art traditional art original art pencil coloured pencils actually liked drawing this

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rumograph

1 month ago

new character that is. around five seconds away from ripping someone to pieces

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my art art traditional art ocs alien oc original art pen pencil bug oc Need a name

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rumograph

4 months ago

had a dream last night that i had taught one of the rats to talk using an app on my phone and all he wanted to talk about was pharmaceutical products

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personal rumos dreams

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rumograph

7 months ago

could you draw ringo with a rat maybe ... or any beatle really

Ringo the boy and ringo number two the rat

Neatest starzapple post

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it’s beautiful Rat the beatles

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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

1 month ago

You're on a sinking plane. A skeleton on a fish hook. Scrubbing the blood stains off the kitchen tiles. You're everything. It will all go sideways for you soon. But you're everything. Let's start again.

You're dying from the outside in. Your brother noticed it before you did. He doesn't know how to help so you ended up staying the night at his and smoking on the roof together. You want to fall asleep up there & you tell him so & he doesn't say it but he is scared what you really want is to jump. He noticed it before you did. Can you link the stars in a way that makes you feel something? You could when you were a kid. Actually, did you feel something then? Take another cigarette when he goes back inside. He won't notice. Maybe he will. What I should say is he won't talk about it.

It's Tuesday again. God. You drive your car like you're the hostage, the man gagged in the back, the body in the trunk. You take turns where you shouldn't. You see your blood seeping through the seats. You're meeting with your mother for lunch and you are sick & scared & tired. Outside the café there's an angel hanging limp in the power lines; a boy and his sister throw stones at it. Keep walking. You can't stop them. Lunch is nothing special and you leave with bleeding nails. You're dying from the outside in. Remember that.

This is your life & you are cigarette ash. But you're everything. You still have time. Let's start again.

remember: from the outside in

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writeblr writing poetry poem original poem spilled ink rumos poetry 30.03.2025

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rumograph

2 months ago

stupid bug with his stupid accordion

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my art art traditional art original art pen pencil rumosona antsona alien sona messed this up a little let's pretend i didnt

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rumograph

3 months ago

you would not believe how happy i am right now

started playing disco elysium today

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personal this is great this was worth the amount of attempts it took

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rumograph

7 months ago

[guy who has handled two conversations well in a row] I think I might be the most emotionally stable person on the planet of earth

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me all the time

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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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