End of Me

You. You who knows all about me, ended up leaving.

I can’t suppress these memories, so there’s only one thing left to do:

End it.




Someone with thr knowledge of who I truly am is dangerous.

I can’t have that floating around, can I?

So that means the end.

That means the end.

The end of your life and of my love.

So I sincerely apologize for the discomfort I might cause soon.

But take solace in the fact that you’re doing something for the greater good.

The Black Puppet

The light in my veins turned to dark as I saw what they did to you.

I wouldn’t just sit back and watch.

Tell me your fears, your worries, your anger and I shall be yours to control.

I will be your puppet.

I will be yours to control.

So I dawned the mask and put on the hood, ready to strike.

I’ll let their blood drip onto my hands so you can be free of them.

I am part of a larger plan, a plan that I have no control over.

For I am just a puppet, guided by God and led by fate.

Blided by anger.

Pushed by hate.

Vox Populi

There are those heralded and praised as geniuses.

Some deserve the title.

Yet others are given a false sense of pride.

And here I stand among the rest of us, under the guise of idiots.

We hide behind jocular masks, here to entertain the intelligent.

But under these fake smiles, plots a revolution.

Under these false grins are the hate filled frowns of fools.

They drive us closer to the edge, pushing us like lemmings.

But this is where we are strongest: backs against the wall, thinking on our feet.

These puppets cut their strings, fighting with their own will.

Wondrous Wonderings

I’ve contemplated shutting down the blog recently. I utterly hate giving you all these absolute piss poor excuses for updates that have nothing to do with writing, but I’m not getting any better. If anything, I’m getting worse.

Most poets and writers are able to write more…vividly when under extreme emotion or duress, but I’m the opposite.
It might have been a foolish dream to try and be the King of Words, but I’ll struggle to keep trying.

Friends, do not read this as a plea for attention. Never think me so low. I’ve digressed too much; My time writing will be greatly diminished and the amount of poems here shall trickle to a halt for now, but I plan on coming back.

I’m so sorry everyone.

Be well all!

-Davis Gwynn

Current Predicament

Hello everyone. I’m horribly depressed as of now. Oh it’s nothing to worry about for I’m sure it will pass….but in case it doesn’t I wanted to thank you all for the incredible support you’ve given me. You’ve all given me confidence and that’s an amazing feeling that I owe all to you, friends.

I know I write about dark, depressing, creepy, and cynical things, but at heart I’d like to believe I’m a good person.

However, as it stands, I’ve gone insane. The definition of insanity as I’ve so constantly written about and defined is, ahem, “Repeating an action over and over again while expecting a different result.” My insanity is forgiveness. Now there are people who should and deserve to be forgiven, but I have yet to meet them face-to-face.

My friends, don’t let me get you down! I’ll write to you all again soon. For those who see this, thank you. For those who do not, thank you as well.

Oh and keep well, all. Keep well.

Until I write again,
Davis Gwynn.

Specifics on my Last Poem

The Poem does have some of my own thoughts, but it’s mainly to embody the thoughts and feelings of three new characters I’m working on. They are: Stanley “Stan” Whitley, Michael Dipperson, and Sarah Mable. The last poem (Thoughts of a Tumultuous Poet), needs explanation, and, as such, that is my fault. However, these three characters are going to be featured in the first book I ever submit to a publisher. More details to follow.

Best regards,
Davis Gwynn