I write to you
Because my brain is not withering

It is growing,
Grooving pits out of neurons
And overtaking blooming

When you take your physical
Out of the sun, you think, I am safe now
Hours later you are bubbling, red, thirsty

I took off
Tied a string from my pinky to your mailbox
It is something people do

I am sitting, looking at an orchid
Seeing the walls of your home, your mouths
My innards that I thought were excavated

I am having difficulty finding comfort
I am having difficulty seeing beauty
I am having difficulty

I think you put it here
In the house, or me, or the string
I drag it

I want you to take it back
Box it up
Swallow it

Hand me back sorry
Hand me back history-less handbook
Give me a hand altering this

Write me back, please
Tell me I was mistaken