That’s how the doctor writes it.

Two cold words.
Two dead syllables scribbled on some prescription pad.

But you know that’s not its real name.

The real name… is shame.

Shame when you see her body ready…
and yours — soft. Lifeless. Distant.

Shame when you repeat, with a fake smile:
“Next time it’ll work.”
— But “next time” never comes.

Shame when you buy yet another supplement…
another so-called formula…
another lie dressed up as a miracle —
only to wake up in the same hell.

Shame for avoiding her touch.
For pretending to be tired.
For rejecting your own desire — just to avoid failing again.

Shame when you hear the classic line:
“It’s okay, love…”
while her body slowly turns away like she’s in mourning.

And you feel it.
You know.

It’s not just the blood.
It’s not just testosterone.
It’s not just age.

What broke… was trust.

Because a man who no longer trusts his own body…
trusts nothing at all.

He starts going quiet.
Avoids the mirror.
Pretends he’s swamped with work —
when in truth, he’s just scared of coming home and facing her eyes.

That’s when it starts.
The dying from within.

Dying in silence.

And that’s where the real crime lives.
Because no one talks about this.

No one speaks the truth behind the medical term:
It’s the man who fades away… until nothing is left.

But… what if there was a way to stop this invisible death?

What if, in 72 hours, you could achieve a first victory — silent, but real?