tiling my way back and forth

The postal stamps haven't been touched
since they made their way to the cranny
between the wall
and the closet door:
And they won't be. That's what
it's come to.

The mailbox is filling.
Almost complete refusal to step out.
Almost. Sooner or later
I'll think that things might have changed:
But they haven't. It—
it doesn't matter anymore.

It's the third day
that I've looked in the mirror
and haven't bothered to remove make-up
that's been travelling
spot
to
spot
in black rain clouds
across my face. I stare for a while.
Eventually I'll leave
and things repeat themselves.

The normal "Have you
taken your pills?" ensues.
The irony makes me smile.
When things finally started getting better
is when I've lost it all.