Give Me Something New

I've realized that I no longer read.
Oh, I skim plenty, just as we all do.
But read, like I read then, back when I grew,
and swallowed books with a voracious greed.
Before the writer's had a chance to plead
his case, I'm searching for a stronger brew,
and move on to the next one in the queue
and rarely stay to learn who's done the deed.

It's formula that's made all copy bland?
Or is it my capacity to care?
I worry, on occasion, that it's me.
I see the words, but cannot understand
why anyone is moved. A stale affair.
This one's about the princess and the pea.