Clockwork Toy

my wrists twist ninety degrees, 
effortlessly on a natural bearing
I’m usually positioned on a miniature chair, 
from the corner of the room staring,
there’s a world beyond the window, 
it’s something I’ll never know
I’m calling for you to let me go,
no longer am I the fad or favourite
of what parents see wise, 
I’ll have you know I was in fashion 
long before you were alive, 
coming a close second to the ‘chattering teeth', 
my tin exterior hides 
a fragile heart beneath, 
ticking, beating and repeating 
each time you wind me up
 
my mechanics are far to intricate 
to be produced in a mindless factory, 
I thought my days were numbered 
come the alkaline battery,
I have no hardware or USB, 
no A.I. intelligence, you can’t delete me,
over time, it appears I’ve been relegated, 
I suppose some might accuse 
this broken toy jaded,
I bare the odd bruise,
my colour might be faded,
but I still see myself as a toy for all ages, 
despite my rusty springs 
I house no dial or gauges, 
I require no manual with 
a thousand pointless pages
 
you can confide in me and I’ll listen, 
I’ll help you to handle your own decisions,
until that fateful day
when you condemn me gone, 
I guess nothing ‘old’ in this new age 
ever lasts that long, 
and with this comes the journey,
the part I hate the most,  
I’m tossed away like junk, 
thrown from pillar to post,
it’s as if I can hear my tin heart crumble
as you sentence me to the ‘death row’ jumble,
I am a clockwork toy, a broken boy,
a resemblance of youth 
that adolescence forgot,
forever resigned to the bargain bin
in your local charity shop,  
tick toc, tic toc, tic toc