My feet move against the pavement,
   though blisters form I do not feel them.
My hands brush the leaves on the trees,
   but I do not revel in their texture.
My eyes see the beauty of the place,
   but my mind does not comprehend.
For me it's bland, just shades of the same.
  
I could sip the nectar of the sweetest fruit,
  but I would not taste it's flavor.
I could hear a symphony from the heavens
  but it would  fall on deaf ears.
NowI won't feel the pain,
  and I think I like it better this way.
Now that life, and death
  and love, and hate,
  and lust, and pain,
  all look the same.