I often start my stories with action.
A deed such as, "I have seen" or "I have felt"
Motion is the absence of stillness,
So my words announce my entry, 
through the door that is your mind.
And motion is energy transmuted.
I have come to wonder whether,
I possess abilities or I pretend to.
Transmuted energy from elsewhere
I play a game that requires of me,
a sacrifice of my being.
From lust, from Wrath and from Gluttony.
In this game I am crowned a champion,
Where the real winners are the ones around me.
Is this energy better than potential?
I pretend to know things I pretend to read,
from books I pretend to own.
Is undirected energy better than directed energy?
I visit places I pretend to like and say words I pretend to know,
Pretend,Pretend,Pretend.
Rather, is stored energy better than energy steered towards these vices?
This is a game I've unconsciously been shown,
To act instead of to be drawn.
Is it a vice to sit on energy?
But to be drawn, one must listen,
Ears were never meant for elephants only,
Or is it a vice to be rowdy?
To listen one must be still,
But in stillness you allow the actors to steal,
What is the state of "being"?
Buddha advocates for stillness,
"In stillness you will find meaning."
So which one is it?
To be or not to be?

Nice of you to come here
I come here in this part of my head,
Come join me in this journey
Only follow if you dare 
Let me warn you 
Enter when you're ready.

I know, I am confusing,
I stall, I break,
Like the machines I claim to love
Who knew I only liked to mistreat
To watch when things burn
To destroy something fragile.

I don't believe in fragility,
That's why I keep flowers
To watch them wither and die
To watch them with disgust
I have nothing but contempt
for the spinless and the weak.

Though, when asked uncontested
You will say, I am that,
A corroded machine 
That refused a new shiny part
To change it
All the while it thought itself wise.

I agree, I have moments when I am wise,
but to cast you away
was a big mistake of mine
What you thought of a dream
Was clearly a living lie
Reality was closer than I imagined

Maybe I reminisce the splendor
The grandness of laughs,
An ability to suspend all
The power of two is very unique
In creating a separate reality
Giving the charm of living.

There is a deep gash,
that needs filling,
I've been searching 
everywhere for something new
but the space is meant
for the piece that is you.

I write to remove the words

Its a cold July morning, getting ready for work,
Mostly thinking about yourself and no one else,
when you get a text while brushing your teeth,
Your mother isn't the kind to be awake at this time, you chime.
You open the chat and you freeze at the words.
Suddenly, the toothpaste in your mouth stings like bile,
A clouding in your eyes starts to form,
It has visited your family, and it has left its mark.

We always knew Papa would survive, "A short illness" they said,
Messages pour in from groups and people you barely know,
Mum calls, checking if you saw her message,
You pick up still struck by the suddeness of it all.
She's crying on the other end, barely forming sentences as she speaks,
You try to speak yourslef but remember you have spit in your mouth.
Your Aunty takes over from her and she tells you to come see the body.

"The body" was once my father, you say to yourself on the trip there,
You think this to yourself as you ignore your boss's furious texts,
Your partner calls, his obligatory morning ritual, and you watch it ring.
Your ringtone, the soundtrack as you enter the hospital.
"You are not alone" by Michael Jackson, fitting.
You don't need to be guided to the ward, you've been there thousands of times,
This time you find a crowd of people at the door.
Your uncles are raising hell at the front desk,
you catch the words "you killed him" as you draw the veil to his bed.

He lays there still and motionless, as if he needed rest from a long day,
You freeze and a chill runs down your spine,
You will him to wake up, to tell you its going to be okay
to answer the questions you had for him,
why he drank himself to his end?
why he walked home at night knowing our neighbourhood?
why he left mum and your brother alone in this world,
Why he left you when you needed his strength the most.

You don't realise it but you are shouting these things,
Hot tears warm the cheeks made cold by the boda ride over,
Your cousin holds you as you shrivel in his arms,
He speaks but you don't hear the words,
You meet your mother who is calmer than she was on phone.
She's holding your younger brother who seems unfazed,
But his eyes, staring directly into nothing, tell a different story. 

They hug you and the tears don't stop streaming,
Your phone keeps on ringing,
You don't care who it is, 
all that matters is that,
You're not alone.

I write to remove the words

I have felt compelled,
To renounce the disastrous spell,
That haunts my growing head.
I created a note signaling my end
Throwing all my thoughts into a blend
"A pit crawled out of is a pit no less
As claws dig into your flesh
you will beg a fresh"
These were the thoughts in my head
I called myself the mad one,
Because I saw everything as maddening
Because the words in here are too much
Whenever I was close to silence 
and I tore myself away 
by my hand which wanted no good,
like band aid to a wound.
I carry it like a fake lame on the streets,
I burdened myself and forgot my graces
Till the wound grew back, in different places,
Till soft blows I could take, Started feeling like hits
A mind is its own disease and its own cure,
I'm afraid I must kill the Mad poet to be pure.
To discover what path I must follow,
A new reason must appear,
For now, I am a mad poet no more.

Maybe the words are meant to stay.

Does a raindrop make sound when it hits the ground?
Rather, what do ants hear when it comes down? 
Is it a deafening roar like the one we hear on your roofs
Do they even hear it at all or are they aloof?
Well,I can't talk to one to ask it to explain,
So I shall ask my question again.

What sound does a bomb make when it hits the ground?
It makes a sound as it comes down.
I know that from all the scenes I've watched
From invented media,to clips of cities being torched.
Did the people in these cities ask what sound that was?
Did they stop living their day to be destroyed for an unjustified cause?
Well I can't ask the dead lest they relive their pain
Let me ask my question again

What sound does the earth make when we strip it bare?
When we drive machines on it without a care
Are those rumbles truly from us or from a planet losing itself? 
When rocks are blasted are the trembles we hear cries for help?
Well I can't speak to the earth or I'll look insane. 
Let me ask my question again. 

What sound does 7.1 billion hearts make when they beat?
Not knowing when they will next eat?
When they look at their children dying of thirst?
It's definitely a sound of fear and tiredness
How does a tired heart beat?
Well that I know especially living in this heat.
Let me ask one question if I'm not too late.

What sound does being a human make?
Trust me, I've tried to understand this till date.
It's all war and suffering for you lot.
Bombs, starvation and rot.
Yet somehow you are all still alive.
Fighting for another chance to live.
Let me hurry home I have a report to give.

I write to remove the words

Here in front of the large mass,
My sound rises high to reach their minds,
They expect beauty and frustration,
Little by little they realize,
That I am a shoegazer.

The sound of my throat carries words,
My throat carries pain,
From the tight clasp of the deep,
My mind plays a part in it too,
Tightening ,encouraging it to stifle me.

The sound barely escapes my mouth,
When it does the mass sways in acceptance. 
What does it do to them? I know not,
What does it mean to them? I know not,
Why does it come from me? I know not.

My instrument weighs more than the sun,
It pulls me down to the blacks,
From which it raised me from,
In which a feeling of free it would bring.
I now search for that freedom in my strings,

With a tear in my eye, a pit in my stomach,
The mass wills me to play on,
To strum my hapless chords away,
As they watch me lose myself,
They wonder why I stare at my shoes.

I write to remove the words

I am the universe experiencing itself
Born from stardust too old to comprehend. 
One day all this will come to an end.
Yet, none of those thoughts come when with my friends. 

Light has touched every part of this ball.
Even the rocks deep you’d be appalled.
One way or another the sun has warmed us all.
Yet, in the presence of their light, my miseries are gone.

The trees and bees provide with no complaints. 
Especially as they drape the world in their beautiful paints
While we feast on the fruits of the living’s pains
I am with them, relishing in the beauty we create.


This universe is observed linearly
I am a man who understands this clearly. 
Every spin and turn beckons a future nearing/nearly
The cost of giving you my time wouldn’t cost me dearly. 

When the time comes when my bones sing from age
And the days left become to hard to gauge.
And my wardrobe is full of the colour beige
I will remember you for bringing me out of my cage.


So,let us dance as we please with no thought.
As we drink let us unload the baggage we all brought. 
Let our voices be full and true as they ought.
For I can’t imagine a life without you lot.

I write to remove the words

I have no mirror, yet I see myself. 
I see the pain in the joints
I see the ache of muscles 
I see the distance I have put.
Between myself
And the mirror outside.

I am no doctor,yet I hear my heart.
I hear pounding so much.
I hear the swelling in my ears
I hear the drums match
The anxieties within
Nothing compared to hope.

I have no comb,yet I touch my hair.
I touch the walls of my mind
I touch my fingers
I touch the parts of myself 
That I locked away
Now trying to open the box.

I have no mask so I smell my cologne 
I mask myself from the stink
I mask myself from the world
I know they will understand 
But I’m tired of sharing. 

I have no love, yet I speak of it
I speak of affection I can’t hold
I speak as if I want to be kissed
Kissed into life.
Lying to myself I’ll be fine.

I have no body, yet I try to escape. 
I roam the plains, dusty and wide
I roam the hills, wet.
I have escaped my hell
Now I find another

I have found a cage,now I must scream.
I scream not in fear,
I scream I’m not celebrating 
I scream with rage
Rage blazing within the sun
A sun caged within.

I have a life, I have lived it.
Yet I feel unalive,
Yet I do everything for it
Now I’m slowly but surely 
Seeing I should live it 
Because I’m alive.

I write to remove the words.

I’m sorry to make you my muse.
It’s a struggle I’ve had it’s no use.
Here it is, my heart on paper,
I hope you tear it, for me to gather.

It first started when I listened. 
Your mouth made words glisten,
A language fit for a goddess mine,
Love, do you take your soda with lime?

I looked up, your head my heart in agreement,
I only seek your appeasement. 
Your every desire my only quest.
The hardest part, is getting this off my chest.

A smile that stirs, a wok full,
You and I are the same, an emptiness, a lull,
I can take it away, raising you deservedly.
I promise I will not end it in tragedy.

Your heart fits my cupped hands,
I can see the tugging of its bands.
Let it be mine, let me make us one.
In a room full of others, into my arms run.

Our eyes lock, I see conquest,
I feel the doors open, ready to receive you, my guest,
This house is yours, make it your home.
Lie on my chest and hear the ticking bomb.

Let me hold you by the waist.
A worthy bounty after the chase.
But first, sing the song of love.
Before the feeling is gone. 

I have made you my muse,
I have fallen into your ruse.
I'm ready, my sacrifice.

I write to remove the words.

Before we get into what I now believe as a humiliation ritual, I would like to ask you a question, what does society know? Because it tells us a multitude of things. It shows us that we shouldn’t litter, it tells us that having sexual relations with children is wrong (RELEASE THE GADDAMN FILES YOU PERV) it tells us that we are created in the image of an omnipresent invisible being and finally, it tells us what we are, our wants, our needs and our desires. My Instagram feed was a constant barrage of scantily dressed women who posted thirst traps every other Monday morning, my twitter feed was a political battle field of which side of the political aisle gets to embarrass themselves and finally, the movies the mirror used by society to see itself.

But one movie, I’d say changed my life, was Fight club and if you were eaten by the internet cancer in the early 20s (2020s) you might have come across discussions, video essays or even that one random friend that preached about it back in high school. Its me, 'I’m the friend’ . Fight club is extraordinary in that it questioned the status quo of movie making and method acting. It’s also extraordinary in that it captures mental illnesses perfectly especially schizophrenia. Since my very good friend and local Substack schizo-holic,, decided to open the generational can of worms, I decided, me the uncertified doctor of sociology, psychology and Engineering ,#soon, should offer my two brain-cells in the matter and discuss society’s understanding (to my understanding) of Male masculinity

M4R7IV’s Substack

Modern Masculinity

Another think piece from the writer you will soon grow to despise …

Read more

a year ago · 12 likes · 1 comment · raskolnikov

Now, what does Fight club, society and the President’s picture have to do with masculinity? Everything you soy fuck.

To those who need a refresher on the story of fight club and to those who haven’t watched, Ima need you to do me a favor and go watch it cause the first draft of this post was too long for my liking. Anyway, now that you’ve watched it, let’s get into the movie’s main themes.

As the movie begins, we are met by our antagonist going to a testicular cancer support group where he meets different men who have had their balls chopped to stop the cancer from spreading. In the group, there’s a guy who says his wife cheated on him with another man cause he couldn’t have kids cause…no balls. He also meets Bob, who is on hormone therapy, because he started developing huge breasts due to the lack of testosterone. To help the guys feel better about their situation, the help guide instructs them to hug and cry their pain out. Later in the movie, Tyler and his goons, assault the police commissioner inside the toilet stalls and threatens to cut off his dick and balls if he doesn’t comply to his demands.

Secondly, Tyler and our antagonist form a guy support group where men from manual workers to white collar workers duke it out in the basement of a grimy pub. This event has rules which I won’t get into but the characters and I stress the importance of. The movement grows from our antagonist’s home city and spreads like wildfire affecting every man (masculine type) of every creed, every color and tax bracket. Due to the growth and dominance of this club, our antagonist no longer frequents the testicular cancer support group, so when he meets Bob in the street, they quickly realize they both attend the club but on different days.

Finally, Tyler, uses his charm and flamboyance to convince this group of Fight club men to commit acts of vandalism and borderline terrorism in the name of community and acceptance. His magnum opus is the plan to destroy the five big banks in the city therefore erasing all debt owed by the plebs (you and I). Before this plan begins, new recruits have to prove their worth to be involved .They are starved, left outside in the cold night and hot day and berated by abuse and heckling from the men involved in the plan for three consecutive days. After that, they get to shave their heads and sleep in bunk beds together laughing like best buds joining the larger team.

All this might sound insane and yes, the movie is insane, but I highly recommend you watch it before you go further for the themes I talk about here, if you haven’t caught on, are, male castration, emasculation of the modern man, violence as an inherent masculine trait and the need for community.

All these themes point to one question, what is to be a man/male? Is it to have male gonads?(gonads because Mac Miller and J.Cole have awesome verses using this word) , is it to have violent tendencies and dreams of bashing an opponent’s skull open? or to be in a community that commits terrible acts against the Geneva convention?

Side rant, do you know how ruthless and brutal you must be to make your opponent make rules for armed conflict??? Humans are truly spectacular.

In a deeper analysis of this movie and its themes coupled by my 2 decade long experience on the human server, the question is answered by;

From the dawn of time, men have always been attracted to power, from forming empires in early civilization to the POTUS being a rich real estate developer from a monied background (RELEASE THE TAPES!!!!!). It has always been the object of their fascination, rather our fascination since I am no different. It is an inherent male desire to be at the helm of the ship of power or serve as its crew with the hopes of being at the helm one day. Because in everything men do, be sure it is in an effort to gain power. Hence in the movie, we find very many men doing dead-end office jobs, repeatable work and cancer survivors get attracted to Fight Club. Because it gives them power, the power of violence, the power to undermine your opponent through brute strength and the power to keep an opponent from killing you at the same time. The act of ‘cutting ones balls’ by Tyler was simply saying, “I can take your ability to project your power unto women” Sex is about power. It’s the reason why the men from these clubs joined the vandalism spree and committed acts of terrierisim. Basically power is the tool by which men shape the world around them.

The last point drives us to see loyalty as the second answer to our question. The men who ,its safe to assume, had multiple loans with these big banks and had plenty of rage pent up against big corporations which they often worked at. Its seen with the antagonist with the way he monologues about his job and boss. Tyler uses this resentment for the status quo to further his goals and aligns them with the rage the men feel hence making the subservient to Tyler and his power. Therefore aligning themselves with Tyler’s power and being emboldened by it transmutes the rage into acts of violence. The fact that they attend the fight club meetings weekly without fail is a testament of their loyalty and loyalty to their ability to get power/proximity to power.

To answer ’s question that he left at the end of his piece Masculinity, ideal masculinity is derived by the wisdom of knowing when you have power and when you are a servant to power rather when you need to surrender power if it fits to your internal agenda. This is why in most male centered movies have the male lead saving his female counterpart and why men join militaries to go die brutally in a field no one knows due to a wound infection, no one can treat, while they think of the wife and kids they left back at home with the blood of the wife and kids of their opponent fresh on their skin. True balance, therefore true masculinity (across all modern societies) is achieved with the understanding of this knowledge and practicing it through the watchful eyes of society. Hence the indoctrination of young men with stories that portray men dying in a battle as honorable and why rape is often used as a tool of war against people who don’t have the physical power to defy a physical aggressor i.e. Women and children.

Back to our sweet tounged snake back home with his picture adorned on every wall in bureaucratic Kenya. Its there to remind the workers that they have released their power to the President of Kenya, not the flag of the country which adorns most American offices instead. With this thinking, it is easy to see through the man and all his attempts to consolidate and legitimize his power such as having the picture include the flag of Kenya in the background.

To finish, Everything is about power, the power a man has and the power one feels coming from another man.

I write to remove the words

The calling of the stream has always been strong but not like today. The glistening and lapping off the stones, enchanted her to drop the carefully balanced part she stole from it. She kicked of her shoes, unwrapped her hair and slid into the spilling clean and she began..

“May the evil,

unleashed,

unto these lands,

re-opening a bleeding,

be washed away,

and be turned to ones that

bring light,

into the matter of mind”

She washed her hands and the in between of her fingers three times. Around the wrist and up towards her elbow, following the length of her arm. Again she took the water and said……..

“May the evil,

spoken,

from this mouth,

be washed away,

for it leaves,

a sour breath.

and a heart bitter

May it give,

the feeling,

of home.

to those neglected”

She took into her mouth and danced it around her cheeks and her throat with vigor you would think she had specters running around inside. The control of motion was why she did this four times instead of three. She took the water again and said………..

“May the evil,

imagined

by a mind

so weak,

in the face,

of desire

be washed away

and give way

to thoughts,

that spread,

like sown seed,

and take root,

to eventually,

undo the deeds

of malice”

The hair, only rivaled by the finest silk of this land, oiled to a perfect sheen, now lightly touched, by her wet fingers. Hair like that needn’t be dripping with water like feet. For this reason she did it two times where she took the water again and said……….

“May the evil,

these feet,

walked towards,

be trampled,

under the heels,

of a foot,

washed a new.

May it lead,

the body and mind,

along a path,

of yielding struggle.”

She let the stream run through her toes before resolving to sit in it and let the water run through her whole body where she said…….

“May I be washed slow,

washed a new

in the ever flow”

And she smiled as the water churned away.

I write to remove the words

Humans are not meant to swim, I mean we are terrestrial animals so why would we be going back to a place where our ancestors moved from? Yeah I don’t know but……

I’ve always loved the water. Not the spirits but the forever blue. As a child, I spent so many hours in it. I remember once when I was a four year old chap, my uncle who coaches the Kenyan National swim team, I think, took me to a school in South C where he planned to teach me the swimming basics. My uncle isn’t a very patient man, so when he was fed up with my nonsense of refusing to do the backstroke, he let go of my back and removed my toes from the rail I was holding on to. Safe to say, I became one with the water and water came out of me. After being saved from literal drowning and the pool being cleared for being a hazard, I remember feeling like a new person.

Fast forward to age 10 and 11, my mother was pleading with me to go for swimming gala since I was so good, but I couldn’t cause I was so conscious of my body and I said that girls would laugh at me. Looking back, it was a very small price to pay for being in the water every Wednesday and Friday, away from classes, but I forgive my younger self for being embarrassed for things that never happened. I was pretty bummed out for not participating in the galas that came and went, so I transmuted into the water. Over the August holidays of those two years, I would literally be in the pool next to our place, to a point where the manager could allow me to swim for free.

In high school, I never so much of the water I loved so much. I mean, global warming is a thing and I was in a region that had many farms that relied on irrigation for their crops. I was also in the rugby team which meant you didn’t get time to shower not that we wanted to (All my rugby guys can attest) But the water found me when one day our coach told us we could go to the pool after training. Even before he could give the rules of this escapade, the tired beasts of the game were already sprinting towards the school pool. Shrieking with delight for being given the chance to swim.(Not that we couldn’t but practice made it hard to go to the school pool) The once blue pool turned into a deep murky green after we were done with it. You should have seen us, and smelt us. Beaming smiles, indecent jokes and childlike laughter all round.

So yeah, I have always loved the water, but the man made pools of Nairobi were never enough for an adventurous soul like mine. In the December of eleventh year of existence, my school had a trip to Mombasa. Granted, I had numerous trips to the costal city prior to this one, but none so life defining. There in the sandy beaches and seaweed filled ocean, I was taught to swim in the current. The school’s swimming instructor was making laps from the beach into the deeper part of the ocean, of course, I wanted to follow, so when he came in for lap 5 I met him and insisted to join him.

He wasn’t crazy to let a child do this so we swam to where the ocean current just started pulling you out to sea, it was frightening so I switched from butterfly to human buoyancy (I grabbed on my instructor) Since this was a lesson, he put me on his back and swam towards the current meanwhile, I was busy trying to catch my breath.

We found ourselves back on the shore after a few seconds. As I was gasping for precious air, the man-fish told me, “The ocean is governed by the moon, know what face it is and what tide there is and you’ll not die” (My delirium says this were his words) Whether this is what he said or not, I took this words to heart.

The next time I would be in this situation would be in 2022, Wasini Island. The Island next to the Kenya-Tanzania border famed for its dolphins and coral reefs. My instructors words rang in my mind as I boarded the exquisitely built Swahili dhow worthy to ride the rough sea of Kenya’s majestic southern boarder. Once we started moving, the wind blew into my face making me scowl the entire way and the sun battered my poorly sun screened face and arms to a char. The trip was long to the island but at least we saw some dolphins (Sea mammals are my favorite family of mammals followed by marsupials) but the fun part was when we stopped at the coral reef.

At this point I was so anxious to get into the deep sea, I wasn’t ready for how cold it was and how deep it was. I mean, I’ve swam in Olympic sized pools of Kasarani and in school, but the ocean, was a different kind of deep (Like your girl) My legs and arms went into overdrive trying to adjust to the shock but after a while I got a hang of it and soon I was zooming below the surface of the dhow. Now I am the psycho who doesn’t need swimming googles and comes out looking like I am from a hotbox, but this trip I had them and I could see in HD clear definition ultra 4k LCD and whatever nonsense is said. Fish of different colors, sea urchins the size of my hand, and the shimmering of light below the water. Since this was before the time I met the cylinder of white, my lungs were undamaged from its curling tongues, so I took a long time taking in the ocean underneath.

After being threatened to be left behind na Nahodha wa mashua ule, we made our way to Wasini and finally towards the dock. I looked back at the Island and the waters around it as the sun was setting and felt at ease. As if I had left a burden in the water and a peace rushed in, it reminded of all the times I was inside it. From it taking my piss, to it being the medium I could express frustration, to it washing my team mates and I clean and now, it had washed my burden away. Maybe that is why Christians baptize with water, to wash away your sins. But here in Wasini, I felt as if, I had found my way.

For part two, I’ll be exploring the music that influenced this feeling of peace for now, I’ll go take a long shower to simulate the feeling of swimming. In the meantime, check out the poem below where I tried to capture the feeling.

I write to feel again.

How I wish it filled me,
with power the way it sings.
Endlessly pushing past,
with no thought of,
the destruction left in its wake.

The shine is everywhere,
clinging on me unyieldingly.
Yet I am drawn to it.
Trillions wrapping me in a warmth.
An embrace forever trapped under.

Waves unrelenting with the pounding,
Hearts and sea in manic rhythm.
A rush that washes away,
a part of me I held.
The thing I once yearned for. 

There he is in the spray,
Standing tauntingly in the wind.
Him who the waters test.
Sneering at their futile attempts.
At stopping him from finding the way.

I write to remove the words

The seasons change

And I change with them

Where is the stone man I knew?

Dead.

And I killed him.

Why do I feel?

Why isn't it an off switch?

Why isn't it easy?

Everything comes easy for me.

One day its sunshine and flowers

Another its crying crows and dead dreams

Is it easy for you?

You make it seem so easy

Effortless

I hate it

But I love that you don't struggle

Live your shine

I'm tired of being strong

Of taking the high road

Everytime

Like my hull doesn't get chipped

Scratched

By words spoken

I'm tired of being ideal

Living the ideal life

Being looked up to

By eyes that see an act

Of being strong

Born from weakness

I'm tired of not being seen

Of dreams being projected

On to my canvas

White

As if no film is already

Showing

I'm tired of compromise

Dreams have died from

"It doesn't have to be perfect"

It has to be perfect

Or else I'll pick at it

Like the crying crows

I'm afraid of so many things

So many fears

In this little head of mine

you can see it in my eyes

I'm scared to commit

I'm scared to live.

I want to breath

On my own

To live my own

I seek to quiet

To have the words

Removed from my mind

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Here it is, the door I walked through.
It stares at me as it did in my youth,
It knows my journey so long,
It knows the steps I have taken,
It knows the ocean of black i crossed,
It knows why I face it.
The door watches me as I think,
Think of the decision I am about to make.
A door mute but with a mouth that tells,
Tells  the sins of a young puzzle,

The door's handle takes my hand.
The hand created for this sole purpose.
In this moment of weakness,
The hand that knows the softness of your skin
The hand that wiped your tears away
The hand together with yours made a heart so blind
The hand knows too many bodies 
But it was made for you.

As my hand lingers in thought, 
The handle turns to the surprise of my eager self.
The door opens small and blinding light streams
 From the crack a whisper
"Why did you come?"
The voice is here, it is warmth
The warmth I felt in the eyes so bright 
The warmth I know in the breath so light. 
The crack continues in my pause
Destruction fill the space between 
With words that break walls.
Then it stops, opens wide and ushers to me
"Come in"
What I see is devoid of light
Rather a slow rot no help can solve.
Now the resolve is here, as pause turns to action
A step back is all it takes, a step back is what is done.
Now I am a fool no more.

Inspired by the following works of art, both directly and indirectly.

1. The vampire-(A poem by Rudyard Kipling) - I would say this was a very surprising find on an early Saturday morning that I had a poem titled as so. Especially by a poet so renowned in his time and to this day. A confusing read but a great place to start the process of interpretation.

2. Il Vampiro -(A poem by Wamburu Ndirangu)- Showed this to someone and they asked if I was depressed. Anyway this is a piece I wrote to symbolize an internal struggle, rather a battle that no side wins. It is similarly titled as the piece above though in Italian cause it sounds better.

3. Love and pain- (A painting by Edvard Munch)- It was also named The Vampire by Stanisław Przybyszewski (another goat of his time) Painted by Edvard Munch, it shows a woman with flowing red hair kissing the neck of a man. This is according to Munch, but Stanisław saw it differently.

4. A fool there was- (A movie inspired by the Kipling poem)- The above piece of work is the modern day answer of the film’s biggest plot hole. The husband was never recovered from the Vampire’s grip. But anyway, its a one hour silent film I discovered when researching. IT requires a lot of patience to sit through it. But here is a wiki page on it

5. The age of Vampires- (A you tube video by Horses)- This is just a video explaining why, how and when Vampires. I hope The tiktok addicts will be able to finish it since its a 1 hr video with insanely good visuals.

6. Personal experiences- I have been drained for too long.

I write to remove the words

A cylinder, that is what you are.
That is what they see.
Nothing more.
They know you kill.
But they don't know,
why I run to you in the night.

A cylinder of beauty.
Your warmth makes me curdle,
like a child on its mothers teat.
Being given its sustenance. 
Unlike the child, I know,
that you can leave.

A cylinder is what you are.
Before the little tufts rise.
From my you, into my mouth.
A mouth that turns to the sky.
To expel the baggage,
that we have released. 

A cylinder short-lived.
Why can't you satisfy? 
Are you afraid to show,
The calm you give?
The peace you offer?
To a mind often racing?

A cylinder of white. 
The twirls you make.
When ignored and unattended.
White as the clouds above.
Makes our breath one,
like lovers bound.

A cylinder of fire,
Lighting the burdened up.
Doomed to chase,
that which was promised. 
In the brief show,
of paradise on earth. 

A cylinder of black.
A final form before you go,
to the dust you came from.
A black of humiliation,
A show of the balance, 
between life and death.

I write to remove the words