breathing down my neck
smelling like axe and testosterone
a mixture of callouses on my
baby doll hands
and the sun's reflections through dusty windows
on a winter day
I know that my actions are erroneous
stained with reluctance
the windows in my old church
scream at me for the reluctance

I stopped believing in god when I realized it spells dog backwards.  or was it when I was 13 and realized I would make 75 cents to every dollar.

my unfounded reasoning for running
substantiated only by my astrological sign which I reluctantly believe on days where I need a hiatus from the dirt in between my toes
SCORPIO

it plays hard to get

but astrology spells dog backwards too
I should've said yes to the axe smelling boy