Pain is a single mother, gray and terribly fat, with an uglier face than any other in the world except for a slut's face. She cares about you faithfully feeding you from herself. While you, from her wrinkled breasts, suck the last drop of clotted loneliness infected with agony and horror you feel powerful:
And it seems like you could shoot a rabbit and it seems like you could kill a man and it seems like you could sever a child's head and it seems like you could write a poem.
Pain raises you either as a murderer or as a poet.