“I'm proud of the man you are becoming.”

So I have to squint away these tears so I can see the road, she asks if I'm okay — with the voice of… with the voice of every good part of me, every sunrise — her words are God’s mercy. It's not just the voice of an angel, but of a new day that I hated before it came. So I am the night. So I am the night. So I am death, breathing in a man’s old flesh. She’s proud of this hell in me, that she doesn’t see, for I don’t show, and so she didn’t know — all the pain and the shame and the death that remained in my brain — it’s the same, it’s the same, it’s the same, I refrain.