Every person has the same face.
I revel in architecture, the ocean,
a hard rain or a new town.
My skin is constantly crawling.
Something in me always wants to keep going.
I'm always happy, but never content.
Most find comfort in old friends, a familiar haunt,
the safety net of consistency -
all I see are dead ends and someone I used to be.
Comfort itself make me anxious.
I'd rather live for change,
dive blindly into the unknown.
I am all I need,
but I remain utterly insatiable.
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