I feel so detached
From this body,
This soul, this face,
This name,
As if all the doors
Are closing on me
And I don't know
Where to go,
Where to find myself.
The self
Which is different from this
Physical embodiment.
I'm split into a million pieces,
and like a desperate,
searching for that right broken piece
Which can fulfill my expectations,
Which can fall into place,
Though it is a 'piece',
An unfulfilled,
Detached,
Broken piece,
An unfulfilled, broken identity
Of ....

Stages of a drawing. At every stage it looks complete and gives a different perception, though it is continuously growing.

You think of forms and there existence 
in terms of there meaning in your own life, 
and you enter into an ambiguous void 
where your vision would go 
only until the edges 
of the circumference allotted to your eyes. 
The world will seem to be 
the area your feet rest upon, 
and the universe, 
limited by your vision. 
A touch will only define 
the tactile body 
of the form your hands can feel, 
but not what is yet 
left untouched, 
left hidden