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Not a sad rant

I've picked up what fell, too many times
So many, that I'm ready to pick things up again
So many, I'm almost sure they'll fall again.

I've been the one to throw them too
Used to feel that I'd do it again. 
Maybe I won't at all,
Because I'm tired of seeing it, 
Doing it, thinking about it.

It's not a sad rant about what fell
It's not something I used to care about
It's a process that only ever repeats.

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