Oh

oh. he had been praying using me. it wasnt the decline. it wasnt his fall from grace, when i had barely managed to achieve it for him, himself back to vice . my ever haunting spector following me still, the voice of my father in my ears, my mother, tommy. nae it was him consecrating me. his lips moving with reverence in the aftermath of pleasure, tucked into my thigh. bathed in grace. his breath across my skin i had based for baseless whispering but now i see, it hadnt even been a decision much, at least not enough to be noticed, between me and his roasary, i was a fitting replacement as the bulwark of his faith. i may be able to believe that this is my new chance, to live so well its divine, rather than another doomed to flood, or fire