Have I stopped feeling or am I dead?
Tears in someone else’s eyes no longer moisten my own
Misery, poverty, suffering does not move me
Or is it that I have seen and heard too much
That it has made me immune
To the pain of my fellow beings?
Or have I narrowed down my preferences
And decided that the only pain I feel will be my own?
Why am I so wrapped up?
So blind to the rains?
Or maybe I am not gone yet beyond the lines, insane
Just a little suffering of my own, may make me human again