Against the charitable gesture there is no defence.

Light black. From pole to pole.

There's no lack of void.

It's so nice to know where you're going, in the early stages. It almost rids you of the wish to go there.

The Tuesday scowls, the Wednesday growls, the Thursday curses, the Friday howls, the Saturday snores, the Sunday yawns, the Monday morns, the Monday morns. The whacks, the moans, the cracks, the groans, the welts, the squeaks, the belts, the shrieks, the pricks, the prayers, the kicks, the tears, the skelps, and the yelps.

Hold the old holding hand. Hold and be held. Plod on and never recede. Slowly with never a pause plod on and never recede.

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.