Essentially, it's undiscovered.

The afflicted don't say a word. Their eyes
stare emptily: they rock with silent sighs
an interior rhythm that can't be uttered


or, more expressively, standing, they rock over
the chair, leave with a clumsy walk,
lost in suppressed thought,
their backs still vibrating in the frame's picture.


They don't set themselves ablaze, don't even ask for a match,
they don't get any bright ideas walking by the railroad tracks,
they cross over the bridge, and look down, but only for a flash -


So what should I have done? Without expression,
rummage through my stash and, like in some movie,
coldly aim at him, and squeeze the trigger of my gun?

Krisztina Toth
"The Nature of Pain"
1990s