Form with function, yet hardly functioning, too busy fathoming and fornicating.
It's more like floundering, really, even with the immense understanding belying that Fall.
Frivolous fledgling, fondling this freedom, pondering that forgiveness.
And yet still, frying the backs of your eyeballs for superficial thrills.

Who are you? Better question - you are who? Here is who you arent.
Your whole self. (Though I suppose through and through, this is physically you.)
An instantiation; proof that you exist. But more just a pointer we point to.

When you die, you're really gone. And there's no use asking.
But if you asked where? I'd point neither here nor there.
Because where you really are, we can't point to. Not in the air.

VLS