The one you sweep is not one that renders mobility, no, what you sweep is glitter that has been thrown in the air. There is only so much that can be opened up for your musts, and good thing i am kept company by flies (at least I can bare my soul to them). Thank god for friendships, thank god you can broadcast every single joyous moment with them. I am still left with flies, maybe, I can become lord of them, lord of every stinking fly that has kept me company throughout these years. I have grown accustomed to the dust-bunnies, and some things to keep my glitter momentarily suspended in the air. Pardon me if I have momentarily caused dullness to blind your very own glitter. I have never truly grasped what it is that causes that shining moment in you. If I have caused you to shy upon the world because of my cries, pardon me, the contract well broadcasted that this comes with the package. Oh, the package, I guess I do not have one, but I know when to wrap myself up with the self, the self which is left to pat itself on the back and smile for the cameras that have been only to well acquainted with my cries. I have never known what it was to be stretched by your very own limits (I have seen what limits you can set on, when you are burned by your very desire, of joyous moments perhaps).

There is only so much left for riddles, and this is the last one I am willing to write.