Dysmorphia

[valca85]

Dysmorphia

My neck stiffens like chalk.
I feel my skin crackling,
flaking off,
the only snow falling in this hot sun.
My hands move to help,
to find a way to keep my beach ball
head from plunging
to the stones screaming beneath me.
I pause,
a corkscrew tongue pleading
to be let out;
a neck wanting to crack in two;
hands longing to become nurses.
Each without a single clue
that they are each against the other.
Parts in epic war.

[Charles Darnay]

I like it. I would get rid of the last line (or make it less awkward, but honestly the penultimate line is a nice closure) - but this is just my opinion.

[valca85]

Thanks, Charles!

[cafolini]

If you figured this out, you are already talking about someone else. Need to be upfront. Good luck.

[AuntShecky]

I'd close with the fourth to last line, with the hands wanting to be nurses. What follows seems anti-climactic. We're all sick of the word "epic," and we're certainly tired of war.