Mirror, Mirror

When I stare into the mirror, do you know what I see? I look into my eyes and see the stranger things about me.
So many stories and tears that I've obtained over the years are starting to show, I fear, and affect the ones I hold dear.
Why do I have to have these emotions and feel so much? Like my heart starts off lightly touched then it turns into a clutch feeling like it's in a death grip and such.
My atelophobia has me seeing like myopia, breathing like pneumonia and sleeping like insomnia.
There's no question that because I lie to myself about how I feel is part of the progression to my depression and aggression deeply compressed in my expressions; I'm in need of an intercession.
This reflection staring back at me reveals my imperfection; with close inspection, you can see the connection of affection and infection in the projection of my eyes complexion.
My silence is my loudest cry and I don't know why that I lie when I say it's because I'm shy; the only reply I rely on.
But when someone takes a peep through the peephole, I feel a loss of control when they see a part of my soul that has taken it's toll and is no longer whole begging to be consoled.
The heaviness of this emptiness isn't for pity; it's loneliness in the form of poems and lyrics since I'm left breathless and can't speak about this restless craziness.
Mirror, mirror staring straight at me, is happiness in the near future something you can foresee? Can you please guarantee that I will be set free from the misery?