Tantrums in Symmetry

Before now, I saw you my reaper, the mirror of me Spitting insolent bile any time I'd spend a penny or three Simultaneously scrutinising every crooked line and nook Your spiteful slights were stolen straight from my playbook Before now, I saw you my reaper, the mirror of me Clear as the day must become night, I cannot trick thee Your mimicry of me conspires characteristics of a clown But my face seems to be stained with a perpetual frown Again and again, I saw you my reaper, the mirror of me Impersonating each fragmented element of my identity Your sad need to emulate me has left such a bitter taste Wicked and bloodthirsty, still I continued a frenzied pace But now, I really see you my reaper, the mirror of me Do not pose it to me, that this is any pharaonic mystery The torments and tantrums have become tardy and tired How can you stand it? Your tenacity ought to be admired Eternally, if I must see you my reaper, the mirror of me Mocking my futile efforts to shake off such symmetry Perhaps if I approach you with more affectionate eyes We might here contrive some sort of compromise