I'm no longer in your mind
forgotten
is what you call me
you simply look over my withering frame
as if you are simply blind.
I sit all alone; gathering all of this dust
broken
is what I am
my heart slowly waning
it's a wonder I haven't began to rust.
I notice now I'm nothing but a forgotten toy
without a cause
never more am I useful
but sometimes I can't help but wonder,
"could I bring another joy?"
Prompt: write a poem based on forgotten toys.