Ghostly Repeats

In line at the store, a moment constricts,

this cover, this glance, it all feels so known,

like shadows rehearsing familiar scripts,

wrapped tight in the warmth of a chill from a stone.

The flicker of recognition ignites my soul,

each face in the crowd feels like pieces misplaced,

while time twists and loops, out of my control,

my mind spins in circles, a moment retraced.

Caught in a déjà vu, a blanket of dread,

its weight clings around me, smothering breath,

who wrote this story? Who spun the thread?

I’m left with a shiver, teetering on death.