you're like an angel, nothing can touch you. but i wanna hold you, i wanna love you. you're like an angel, i can't come close to you. you know my weakness, but you don't know what i'd do.
“Therapists can go to hell.”
Michael is trying to pull off the face mask but it’s sticky and very sensory bad. He suddenly feels trapped and claustrophobic in his blanket cocoon, thrashing.
The realization that he’s being perceived causes Michael’s shoulders to tense like iron.
“Irrelevant. I’m learning… so I may better serve Him in this rapidly changing cesspool of a planet He seems to value.”
Did he just question God? Perhaps not directly. He might be tipsy.