Shivering arms goose bumps embellished

Tongue down your neck tastes like sugar

Who is this person that I’ve become

My mind’s corrupt with the thoughts passing

Sweat evaporating into the air

Making it thick and humid

Breaths of flames that light up the darkness

It consumes me

I’m pacing confused hands in my hair

Nails clawed like a lioness gripping the ground

Roaring into your ear what you want to hear

I’ve crossed over to the realm of no return

Insight for Writing: Write short, clear & graphically.

“Write short, and they will read it. Write clearly, and they will understand it. Write graphically, and they will keep it in mind.”

Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mf9KrUQy9uQ&feature=youtu.be

WIKI: Joseph John Pulitzer (April 10, 1847 – Oct. 29, 1911) was a newspaper publisher of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and the New York World. He became a leading national figure in the Democratic Party and was elected congressman from New York. He crusaded against big business and corruption, and helped keep the Statue of Liberty in New York. In the 1890s the fierce competition between his World and William Randolph Hearst’s New York Journal caused both to develop the techniques of yellow journalism, which won over readers with sensationalism, sex, crime and graphic horrors. The wide appeal reached a million copies a day and opened the way to mass-circulation newspapers that depended on advertising revenue (rather than cover price or political party subsidies) and appealed to readers with multiple forms of news, gossip, entertainment, and advertising. Today, his name is best known for the Pulitzer Prizes, which were established in 1917 as a result of his endowment to Columbia University. The prizes are given annually to recognize and reward excellence in American journalism, photography, literature, history, poetry, music and drama. Pulitzer founded the Columbia School of Journalism by his philanthropic bequest; it opened in 1912.

Published June 18, 2019

“Quotes of the Day” for May:

https://theprose.com/post/276702/insight-for-writing

that every ambition

turns out to be some diamond-

ring-backed rattlesnake that

lures you in-

to chasing it and

the moment you realize how

far you have run and all

you have left behind, it

senses your hesitation,

turns and

strikes.

I got what I wanted,

you realize, at one point,

the coffee mug growing cold against

your concrete palms.

Or if you haven’t yet,

trust me– you’ll know

when that pit of swallowed morals and tongue-

-tied cherry stems hits your stomach and you

can’t help but stare down

that bastard blaming you from

the dirty mirror above the sink.

I got what I wanted.

...was it worth it?