Challenge
Challenge of the Week CCIII
You wake up hungover in a Mexican jail. No idea how you got there, and no memory of the last 48 hours. Fiction or non-fiction, poetry or Prose.
Mexican Prison
Crawled over the floor of the prison cell,
sweat pearls ricochet off the floor.
No date, no time, I lost my mind,
after forty-eight hours with tequila and wine.
Dear prison guard, what happened last night?
Did I go to far on the poker table in the end?
The drugs my friend, I pushed deep down my throat,
as the party kept on going until the sunrise I felt.
Guns and girls in the middle of the room,
my memories turn alive,
as if it still was last night,
where I was still confident and fine.
I look down my hand, a dry-blooded wound,
two fingers lost, and scar above.
I panic, I scream, the guard turns to me,
but I was already gone, oh lord have mercy on me.
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