A pale roux of dead...

A pale roux of dead obscures my world.
The walls close in while the ceiling moves up.  
All that was connected now disconnects.  
Stars combine in a light so bright I’m blind.  
I reach, I feel but nothing’s there, only air.
I’m spinning, falling, the light goes out, it’s black.
The maelstrom increases, I am torn in pieces  
that are collected in a vessel named recovery.
The vessel of recovery contains the souls of many. All
awaiting the hand of the unknown to make them whole.  
Disconnected in the world of the unknown, the fragments
of my consciousness try to connect but the roux obstructs
and controls reality.  Pieces of myself mixed with pieces
of others will I ever be me or a hybrid of what I was?
My fragments scream to be whole, to be free of this
roux of the dead and see the light of day and freedom.
I’m lost with no directions, armed with only pieces of reality.