He stitches the stained glass in his spine trying to widen the line between holy and unholy, but the pillars of pain are twisting and snapping the thread and he crumples onto the floor with his head bent and hands in front of him - how convenient. If he's praying to God - is it out of worship or fear?
Someone's watching him, who's watching him? The vibrant eyes of the stars blink at him and rays of the sun burn his retinas, so he can't see and his faith is breaking every second. Cracking and flaking away like the anemic church of his childhood.
He's backsliding so fast, the world spins around him. Is he falling into heaven or collapsing into hell? All he knows is there's a light at the end of the tunnel: is it salvation or damnation?