96 Hours Later, poetry by Alix WYH at Spillwords.com

96 Hours Later

96 Hours Later

written by: Alix WYH

 

A noisy bar.
An unclear mind.
Three speak.
One hesitates.
Four euros collide—
a verbal agreement.
No record.
Three days later,
fulfilled.
Ninety-six hours later,
given.
Five hours—trial.
First barrier passed.
No contract.
Only a nod.
The relay continues.
Glasses.
Alcohol.
Erasure.
Voices blur.
Fragments break.
I no longer remember
who said what.
The body works.
Uncertainty rises—
like unwritten terms.
A crowded bar.
A dim weekend.
One works.
One calculates.
Plates disappear.
Lights go out.
The night ends.
At the counter,
stories stay under skin.
I drink.
Alcohol is not enough
to sell a soul.
Numbers are.
Midnight passes.
Hands meet.
A transaction completed.

***

Evening.
Masks on.
5.6% enters blood.
Order collapses.
Noise.
Laughter.
Pressure.
Someone speaks.
I nod.
I hear nothing.
Ink fades.
Paper remains.
Time moves.
22:53.
End.
Alcohol washes the city away.
Leaves a hollow.
Inside,
a map is missing.
Promises flicker.
Three days.
Three nights.
No direction.
Return—
nothing familiar.
No language.
Unpaid work.
No proof.
Awaiting judgment.
Accounts remain open.
Cut.

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