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