I kill a man.
Every single day, I do,
Quietly, cleanly, without a clue.
I kill him morning, noon, and night.
He dies, then wakes, for the next dark fight.
He never screams. He doesn’t run.
He trusts me more than anyone.The man I kill each day is me,
Not the me you see,
But the one who dares to dream and try,
To build, to lead, to question why,
To rise with purpose, face the storm,
To break the mold, to leave the norm.I kill him when he starts to chase
A purpose lost in comfort’s haze.
I kill him when he takes a stride,
I pull him back with quiet lies.I kill him with the glow of screens,
The pull of lust, the quick dopamine.
I feed him lies disguised as rest,
Then steal the hours he needed best.I kill him with comparison,
“Look at them. You’re not enough.”
I twist his thoughts into a maze,
And I laugh as I watch him lost in endless daze.I kill him when I let him sleep
Too late to rise, too dull, too weak.
I cancel sweat, I cancel pain,
I call it comfort, but it’s really just a chain.I kill him when he starts to grow,
To stand like men who’ve learned to know
That freedom isn’t found in flight,
But earned by choosing what is right.I kill him with my coward voice
That steals his strength, erodes his choice.
I make him stutter, shrink in crowds,
Hide his worth beneath the doubts.I let him dream and speak it proud,
Then break the vows I once allowed.
I help him plan, then tear it down,
I crown him king, then crush his crown.And worst of all, I kill him slow,
So he won’t even see the blow.
He thinks it’s life, or just bad fate.
He doesn’t know… I am the weight.But now I see the damage done,
The years I’ve lost, the man I’ve shunned.
The dreams I’ve buried, breath by breath,
The silent, slow, accepted death.But he still breathes beneath this weight,
A flicker fighting through the hate.
He’s bruised, but not beyond repair,
He’s still inside, and gasps for air.So now the knife and hammer turn around,
Not on him, but on me, the killer he finally found.
To cut the ropes and break the chains I tied tight,
And silence the voice that steals his light.He is me, and I am him,
Now he knows the he can win.
To every man who reads this line:
A killer lurks inside your mind.
Find that voice, and end the strife,
Before it steals your will and life.
Or else the story’s grim and dim,
And the killer writes a poem called,
“I Finally Killed Him.”
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋⚔️🪞🌅﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋
I don’t think I need to explain the meaning of the poem, because what’s behind it is something most men face, whether they admit it or not.
Except for a few blessed ones, many live with this invisible killer: the one that sabotages them every day, slowly.
It kills not with violence, but by turning them into cowards… addicts… excuse-makers… blame-shifters… confused, naive, numb, and constantly comparing. It’s a death that happens daily, internally, quietly, and without warning.
The inspiration for this poem hit me during my metro commute to the office. I looked around at everyone, silent, tired, locked in routine, and suddenly asked myself,
“What the hell am I doing with my life?”
I sleep late, wake up exhausted, rush to the office, drag through the day, come back, watch Netflix, overeat, play games, and drown in dopamine loops. I keep doing it, day after day. That’s when tline struck me: “I kill a man. It is me I kill. I kill him daily.”
And that one thought grew into this poem. Now it’s long, heavy, honest, and hopefully meaningful. I hope someone out there, someone struggling like I am, recognizes their own killer.
It’s not their parents, siblings, friends, wife, husband, girlfriend, boyfriend, colleagues, or even the strangers or the world they sometimes blame. The killer is them. And only they can stop this killer.
But for that, they need to find it, and turn the very blade it’s been using against them. I hope they finally do it and end the sabotage before it ends their story and leaves them with nothing but regret and wasted potential.
