Lifelong Contradictions

So many nights
And so many days
I’ve looked into that mirror
With those streams down my face

That person looking back at me
Was never who I wanted to be
But even with my cries and pleas
No one remembers the infidelities

There’s something wrong with me
And though I know it’s not worth thinking
I ponder the reason of my breathing
And question whether this breath
Only comes with tears

It seems I’m only alive in front of that mirror
When I see that face, it seems so real
Everything before and after
Just seems so painful

With the reflection seeming so innocent
And the reality being so painful
Having both in the same moment
Is the only real thing I can feel

Breath and tears
Only come in pairs
Like sadness and loneliness
You can’t have life without despair

Why can’t I live without that mirror?
Why can’t I see the reality without the reflection?
Why does this rage need to have the sorrow afterwards?
This life… is nothing but death

Nothing but death…
Nothing but reflections…
Nothing but sadness…
Nothing but breath and tears

Evaporation is the name of this life
Dissipation is its ultimate goal
Powerful and great, it rises
Only to be forgotten the next minute

Nothing
But
Immense
Wounds
Followed
By
Exploitation

Nothing but death

Screaming and wishing for quiet
Crying and wishing for more
Feeling rage and only feeling sadness
Living life, but only prolonging death

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What triggered this poem was this: I just got into the bedroom I shared with my brother in Brazil at night and my bro turned off my laptop when it was in the middle of a scanning process. And that could seriously mess the laptop up, so I got mad and hit the wall. Before, I always thought people that hit things when they got mad were just stupid, but now I know better. Then I sort of stepped on him, he slapped me, and in the end, I dominated the fight. I kept the laptop open and my brother was complaining about the light, and had an elevated voice while he was complaining. When I turned off the laptop, I got really sad and confused and angry and frustrated. This led me to ponder what the opposite of anger is, but at the moment I came to the conclusion that anger just is. I questioned why God hadn't answered some of my prayers and thought I would never be happy with who I was, thinking of what has just happened. Before I wrote the actual poem, I wrote this sentence: Living your life is like screaming for silence; you can get the result you’re looking for but in the end, you’d just be a hypocrite.