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Insanity of the Dale Kind

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Below is the poem entitled Insanity of the Dale Kind which was written by poet Robert Needles. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Insanity of the Dale Kind

I awoke to the smell of blood, Wondering what he got me into, This time around, After what he did to my parents, I could never forgive him. Couldn't believe my parents are dead, The fire took it all, And he was the one that did it, With that menacing smile, Painted across his face, Like a big stupid red grin. I'm not sure why he appeared, But I always knew he was close by, I guess I forgot to mention, The name of my psychotic friend, His name is Dale. I started to believe that I was him, But ever since that day I was locked away, He became more real by the day, As my sanity was draining, His personality changed, And now I'm in the middle of nowhere, Covered in blood. How did I escape from the asylum?, What atrocities did Dale commit?, Whose blood stains my clothes?, And where has he ran off to? Only questions run through my head, And no Dale around to answer them, I look around and see bodies, Laying face up in a pool of blood, More victims of Dale. It seems his strength is growing, And he is aware of me being weak, He could take over at anytime, And I'm not strong enough to stop him. As I move my eyes towards the hills, I see his menacing smile, And what appears to be a chainsaw, That dangles from his hand, I run over to him, Staring into those empty eyes, Hating him for what he is, Wanting him to just go away forever, But I never make it. There is an explosive pain in my leg, As I slam to the ground, Feeling my body going into shock, As the light goes black. I awaken sometime later, White hot pain coursing through my leg, Rubbing my head, And pushing myself to the mirror, Noticing a patch of hair missing. Upon my scalp are stitches, It seems they have cut out the sickness, Dale is no more, I'm finally free to be sane again. But then I see him standing by the door, "No it can't be, Your gone; they cut out the sickness, You don't exist anymore" I cry lunging at him with a knife concealed in my pocket. The blade pierces his flesh, Blood squirts out onto my hands, As I stare into his face, But there is no smile this time, The face...is not his! I watch as the woman's eyes grow cold, As her body begins to jerk, Tears pouring out of her eyes, And the last thing I feel, Is the prick on my neck. Sometime later I open my eyes, And there he is, Sitting before me with that smile, Opening his mouth he speaks, "looks like we're roommates again" He cackles madly.

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  1. Date: 9/21/2012 3:54:00 AM
    Thank you for sharing your excellent writing with us Robert. I enjoyed reading it this morning. Have a wonderful weekend. Love, Carol