i left a few hair ties,
half a bottle of lavander shampoo,
and my favorite knit sweater
in a west coast city

i'm heart-set,
i'm hell-bent,
i'm coming home

this east coast blood
boils too quickly
in the sun

we are addicted to
seven different kinds of pills
& we are slurring our words
with sleeves pulled over our wrists
& we are counting down the days
til this ends,
but we don't know what this is
or what happens to us when it breaks

so we are skipping rocks across
the susquehanna and
speeding down 6 and 11
to the diner off college ave
& my eyes are burning from the wind
ripping through this quiet town,

and i can wear that thick hoodie
you bought me in philly,
with flannel interior
(i like that hoodie,
it smells like the warehouse
we snuck off to,
to smoke your dad's
cigarettes when we were
fourteen and first flirting
with the decline that we're
now hopelessly devoted to)
but my organs
will shiver each time
you change shifts
on the way out of town;
chilled to the bone;
an omnipresent ache

we are running to jersey again,
for a salt water sunday
and a breath of ***** air

always taking laps around the tri-state,
trying to stop the boredom from
burning holes in our shoes

so portland,
hold my hand,
drag me back,
my legs are tired
from all this running
& i need you now

*west coast whispers,
west coast whispers,
you're safe here
where the ocean
meets the land.
i'll hold your hand