I believe it is inevitable for the writer to depict and portray some aspect of their mental habitat, simply because the lens in which the writing is pouring from has the patterns in which one engages the world in. Of course, one can shade their viewpoints with fantasy and detachment, nevertheless tidbits of one's life are going to appear. The mere choice of writing something at a certain junction through inspiration and whatnot, kind of already signifies the inevitability of the reflection of one's soul appearing in the writing. Soul, in the metaphorical sense. But, I guess there are lines that are more obviously tainted with oneself.
As for myself, these are some recent lines of mine, that have some bearing:
A social recluse, whose secluded all those close to him
Partly, because fear has him scared of those closing in;
Strangers approaching the veil behind his anti-social whims,
A treasure box itemizing his feelings. I'm co-signing your healing
Nowadays, I try to be straightforward, not rhyming encrypted
But, frustratingly so, others still find it too mystic
As if the light from the void has blinded their spirits.
I know I don't quite come to par to those standards of yours
Still, I hope to rise, beyond the limits of that ladders of yours
Clamber the roof, wishing upon only the stars that are pure.
The enigma of the light within darkness furthers the farfetch's allure
You see my friend, falling from grace is part of the cure
I alone share the blame for what you've become,
A pretentious and grandiose part of the sum.
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