Nondescript Red Cloth

A thin white cloth
Floated over everyone's head
Like a ghost at the end of cigarette
Such a lovely sight
Yet as if it was dead
Dismissed and brushed aside
No one wanted to stain it red

It grew tired so it landed
On floor which had never been dusted
Overtime, browned and ragged

Until one day you spotted me still laying there
Caught a glimpse of me, you thought I was an eye floater
Thinking it