Fall with a curtsy;
Canvas of the wind;
Lace of the sea.
The shore is **** yet barely obscene
Looking closely,
I just see, me  
and all of myself longs it could be.

We live in a world which requires tragedy for us to appreciate unity
Changes socially forcing conformity
Murderers gain popularity for acts of brutality
its sad to see the world lack empathy
while great people face scrutiny for caring about humanity  
we live in a world that reads less books and more eulogies

Some days I do not have the strength to keep moving
I blank out, completing forgetting what I was pursuing
Constant thoughts of "What am I doing?!"
Wishing thoughts in my head would stop cooing
I feel like my energy has been drained
The relationships I have all seemed to be strained
My heart is just overwhelmed and pained
I wish I didn't feel so constrained
and that my emotions were something that could easily be contained
I wish there was someone who could be blamed
But there isn't and it feels like nothing is ever going to be the same

<Initialization.start.exe>
[Meaning] = The way we use language to convey [FEELINGS];
Poem(){
Words have [Meaning]
Creativity, Force, Power.etc;}

If(Poem() != [Creative]){
~query~ Is it poetry?}

/* There is no point in writing what is already written */

Expression(){
It's not what we want to say that matters because the FEELINGS we experience in our lives have been felt before. It's trying to express those feelings, and share them with others in a new way.

Expression(Poem([Meaning]));
<Initialization.end.exe>

I never claimed to feel shame.
You never said you wanted it that way.
I'm not a good woman and I'm not
looking for a good woman, or a man.

You want a slow roll?
I can't do that.
Every prospect loses its prospective
when you inevitably ask:
What's in your pants?
Do you believe in God?
Are you invested in retirement?

You want a slow, slow roll?
That's cute, sweetie -- but for
the sanctity of my heart, and my literal safety,
I better disclose right from jump.
I have a pair of *******.
I have a *****.
I have a heartbeat, beating fiercely. Do you?

I never claimed to feel shame.
You never said you wanted it that way.
I'm not a good woman and I'm not
looking for a good woman, or a man.

Vanity stole me
Vanity corrupted me
Vanity tranquilized me
Vanity disrupted me

These lines have me thinking wrong thoughts, thoughts that are of uncanny nature and vain thoughts of selfishness and unhealthy erotica.
Vanity took all the sanity away from the head, and left me alone, not even therapy can stabilize me, I rebuild my soul.
I'm out of my mind, and I'm yellin' out, vanity
...
Like a drug itself, these lines are like decaf and vanity is my addictive curse.
Addiction not to the drug, but to the feeling of such an intense self love, it eats you up inside, you take the substance to escape the sinful feeling.
Logic, and proportion, all dead.
Losing myself,
Get out of my head.
Get out of my thoughts.

My mind flees into the darkness.
Where will I find it this time?
Will it wander to you?
A hazy silhouette in the ebony abyss
Of my thoughts, hopes, dreams,
And fears.
You seem so distant, yet vivid,
So present, yet lost.
There are slight differences about you now.
You have the temporary aura
Of yellow happiness which captures you.
But then, at times, I see the hollow
Places in you face and wonder.
Does your mind flee into the darkness too?

I am not the master of my writing

-
my writing masters me,
seizing me when the seizure is a sure thing,
it dictates to its enslaved scribe
what it desires this utensil to reveal and expel -
the contraries
who having battled to a ****** draw leaves the battlefield trembling with indecent indecision; the optimal conditions for its macrobiotic invasion of my brain stem;

the she-muse offers me two choices:
she wants a poem writ forthwith
on the lyrical expression
of depression and refusal is
non optional

so I fantasize escape and that becomes
her property as well;
evidence against me to be used at my trials,
the one where there is no statue of liberty
from the limitations of prior bad acts;

I offer the she-muse two choices:

give me a cabin with WiFi
and self-enforcement of solitary confinement and
tie me up with the rope remainders of broken bonds,

bonds that tied me up worse
when they were broken
and the peaceful withering
that won’t disrupt disturb nobody
from a distance

my other choice is to bury me
forthwith next to my parents
and shutter my constant tearing eyes which are drop-resistant

muse says that’s no choice
I own your voice stilled or not,
will bill your soul’s account for
denial of poetic services

weep; i don’t want the noises that curse this troubled
bodyship don’t want recollections good or bad

the muse-***** cackles with insanity of delight
for she accepts this writ as partial payment
on her commission, whispers I love your
lyrical expressions of depression
that ****** recognition algorithms
alert me that seizing time is nigh

there is no on/off switch for one like you:
father son and holy ghost