Don't worry I've swept away so many times might as well live in the bristles of a broom, making it into my room sleeping with a blanket of lost,animal Hair and my pets would be dust bunnies. I've been to all corners of the room and my house is a mobile one when someone picks up the broom to sweep me under the carpet so I'm not seen and I'm just as lost as a broken peice of a puzzle you didn't mean to lose. I blow with the vents all around this room,whistling a tune of reds and blues. Like a feather floating gently above your bed and floor. Being washed away with all the effort you could put into it, there is no spiny of elbow grease to scrub me out. I'm that stain that peels and sticks to your floor or to your favourite coat like a bur. I'm a wet plop on the floor a mystery of what I'm made of is no clue. Gloves couldn't provoke anyone to pick me up. I'm stuck to you like your words stuck to me. I'm just a sticky stain on the carpet making my home on your things that you see lying around your place. The look of disgust on your face because I'm a mess just a beautiful mess and you made me that way.