I have a torture chamber of my own making,
It rests within a cranial centre,
Containing all manner of devious racks and thumb screws,
My skull is the iron maiden it rests within,
Rusted spikes implied by self-esteem,
Nicking and piercing at cruel intervals,
I cannot escape this chamber,
It’s in my head,
I am tied soundly upon this breaking wheel,
Cracking my own limbs and jaw,
I can only scream internally though,
This torture is for me only,
In their masochistic inquisition,
My thoughts crank up the restriction upon this rack,
Foul ichor oozing from my gullet,
In the form of “I’m okay!”,
Lies brought forth through torture,
Cries for help in vile pools on the floor.