Whilst chasing your ghost, I become one myself—

Haunting the aisles of the grocery store,

Inspecting expiration dates like ancient texts,

Sifting through cereal boxes,

A philosopher of processed grains.

The fluorescent lights flicker—an omen?

No, just a budget cut, probably.

My cart squeaks down the linoleum lanes,

A restless soul in search of discounted milk.

I hear the whispers of checkout scanners,

Beep… beep… the monotony of purgatory.

Is this where the lost souls gather?

To wander endlessly, price-checking eternity?

The cashier looks at me—bored, half-asleep.

“Do you have a loyalty card?”

I do not.

Who can pledge loyalty in this fleeting world,

Where yogurt spoils and bread grows stale?

I drift on,

A ghost in a place where nothing lingers,

Except the faint scent of lemons and bleach.

Whilst chasing your ghost,

I forget why I came here in the first place.