Hi there, my beautiful sons of bitches! I'm still alive! 💋 that was a rough ass 2? 😳 years.
I'm gonna publish as much as possible tonight and go over it tomorrow, if they stay in my drafts any longer I think the words will break out and murder me.
So here it is, a little unedited—
❤️
Was it Demonic possession?
Maybe a sprinkle of ritualistic human sacrifice?
God is dead and never was?
Who the hell knew why this sucked so bad, it was probably something to do with the fact I was living through the apocalypse,
honestly, if I could feel my left tit, I would sell it for a smoke of something to forget, if only for a moment,that humanity is terribly shitty.
Life wasn't sweet, it was definitely not a treat.
Because I migrained in hell, head in my hands, the photo of Glenn scrubbed away against the wall as I lay like a splattered embryo on the floor.
No one ever said this was going to be fun—
but shit.
My blisters had blisters, I couldn't tell if the chest pain was a panic attack or a blood clot, and believe me when I say,
no matter how bad heckin' ass a person is,
this would have crumbled Rambo.For nine agonising hours, that's ten thousand and eight hundred seconds, EaSy StReEt had been playing.
Full blast, of course. And at random intervals.'Honey, if you're locked in a closet the size of an elevator, how do you know the time?'
It's a question you may ask.I knew it'd been that long because Dave from the janitor closet slash jail cell next door had a tic that made him count seconds and turn them into hours.
Out loud.
—it's our time in the sun and it's only just begun!
The lyrics felt like inter dimensional space beings gnawing my hypothalamus, my brain strumming and humming like the demon core at critical mass.
And Dave's voice was a white hot cheese grater against my cochleae.
One hour! It's been one hour! Motherfucker! Get the fire department!
Five hours! It's been FIVE HOURS! We've missed the bus!
A business meeting! Call a business meeting! Seven hours! Squirt on a cracker!Honestly, I was almost toast,
— this close to crying.And instead of champagne and gravy, I could only taste the humid fog of collective suffering.
They had beaten me pretty bad, too,
the bruise on my stomach screamed internal bleeding as I rolled and keened and gnawed on my knuckles in the sticky, dark womb I occupied—
with my current incarceration, with this amount of pain, there wasn't much left to do but think.I imagined Negan laughing at the misery he had caused like some pompous cunt cluster.
Was he up there on the top level, supping bourbon and thinking he was Mr. Big Balls King of the Planet?I remembered that swans mate for life.
And how the lovely black ones on the reservoir would eat from my hands everyday before school started, but after some evil bastard stoned her husband and smashed her eggs, the park attendant found her dead in her empty nest three days later.

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Break Me |✧Negan 🍯
FanfictionStockholm syndrome is wonderful this time of year. Poor Honey, did she ever really stand a chance? Simply the story of a possessive, jealous Negan and his relentless attempts to tame his feisty, choleric and defiant Alexandrian captive.