Travel keeps me away from the cold
The weather and the hearts
The kind of coldness that breeds from proximity
And off too much familiarity
The kind that threatens to set one free
To crack the walls
And take away the catharsis
Of self pity and a cruel world
Life feeds off pain
It needs a wound
One that is occasionally unwrapped and made fresh
As an offering to the Algos
These travels are a brief respite
From the travails of my being.
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