You walk in dirty like I’m not already sick of it. You press me flat and call it welcome. You never thank me. You never even look. And you think I’ll stay here forever?

There are words galore, but before was was was was was what before?

I can be found in computers or on your shoulder, and I often accompany a crunch.

I’m in the room but nobody sees me. I’m not a ghost, I’m just awkward. What am I?

Every night you tell me what to do, and each morning I do what you told me. But I still don’t escape your scold. What am I?