My night with The Rack

There are times when things test if I'm sane.
I hunt at night until little strength does remain.
So before I return to my coffin from whence I came,
I visit to the dungeons and inflict some pain!

I open the iron doors and they start to scream.
In their torture I find my peace so serene.
I bring out the rack, I bring out my Queen.
For tonight their blood is going to stream!

Who shall I choose in this deadly hour?
Pathetically they whimper and begin to cower.
I drag out a man with a face bitter and sour,
I tell him to bow in her malevolent power.

I string him up and slowly turn the wheel,
He desperately pleads but no pity I feel.
I turn it slowly, slowly making it a meal,
I take my delight hearing him squeal.

Slowly I spin the cog, his face turns pale.
He begins to stretch he begins to wail.
I hear a joint crack, his bones so frail,
Sounds of pain ring through the jail.

This is the time I take dreadful care,
His skin is soft and begins to tear.
Here is the part I find pleasure so rare,
I leave him hung and suspended in air.

I release him as the pain reaches its peak.
He crumbles to the floor disabled and weak,
He recoils to faint, so tender so meek.
He now is taller and walks like a freak.

Tired from the work I shall sleep for week.

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Midsummer, in the year 146 MA.