Collecting dust, and forgotten high upon a shelf
I hear your cries of desperation as you call for help
You were once a coveted prize, the object of desire for all
Until you met your demise like all possessions, then began your fall
No longer new nor slightly used, you were not even last season
Not an antique, just weak, the flavours of the week even viewed you as excretion
Bargain bin beautiful priced for much less than you cost to make
You whimper, indignant that you were authentic yet being treated like a fake
There must be a way to regain their love, you thought arrogantly from your final resting place.
Perhaps I'll be seen as unique again, if I just put on my best face.
Adorned in a vibrant smile from cheek to cheek
You convinced yourself that you were a chic
Many admirers passed you, fingering you for nostalgia's sake
Then returning you to your dusty shelf, leaving you for someone else to take
Such is the fate of those that forget their roots for temporary fame
They will be abandoned too, for survival of the fittest is not just anybody's game
When your ego grows too big for your own head,
Count your blessings, choosing to be confident instead
Cockiness will get you nowhere other than in biased history books
No longer desired but despised, not even coveted by crooks
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