A/N: Hey guys, surprise! It's River, and yes, I write poetry too lo. Anyways this is kind of dark and has meaning behind it. Hope you enjoy/whatever you feel for it.

It's twenty past nine.

The angel clock on the wall smiles

down at me,

with eerie indifference,

and otherworldy interest.


They see me,

Follow me,

with their porclein eyes,

and wire halos.



I turn my head towards the man.

The smell of peppermint tickles my nose,

drenched with the scent of fresh tobacco.

He runs his hand along the dusty spines,

left sitting alone in the bookcase.


He looks towards me,

his grey-brown eyes freezing,

the color of muddied ice.

"Do you know why you're here?"

He whispers.

I shake my head,

my hands folded in my lap,

like a good girl.

"No, Pastor," I whisper quietly.




I whirl my head towards the door

A hand closes around my throat,

wrapping around it like a serpent would its prey.

I try to scream.

Only to find I have no mouth.



"Oh, Lillith," He sighs,

his eyes burning into mine.

I struggle,

and get free,

Only to trip


His eyes follow me,

and he heaves a sigh.

This is more work for him.

He hadn't expected me to run.

Lunging after me,

his hands catch the edge of my pants.

And then I scream as he drags me back to him.

My head hits on the desk.

The fear I feel trickles down my neck,

mixing with his breath.


How could this be happening?

Where is God?

Is this room devoid of my divine savior?

...Or does he choose to ignore my cries.

I whimper as his sweaty body

defiles mine.


His hand covering my mouth,

as he whispers, "Shhhh."

It tastes like sweat and holy water.

Tastes like broken dreams,

and of my own blood from where he bit my lip.


He then zips his pants,

his glasses flashing in the light,

then unlocks the door and slips out.

So quietly.

Leaving nothing different in the room,

as if he had never been there

in the first place.


The peppermint now fills my nose,

mixed with the sweat saturating

my bruising skin.


The room,

stained with pain and silent screams.

The invisible blood,

the hidden wounds,

crawling deep within me.

I roll on my side,

facing the wall with the clock,

tears leaking through my eyes.


The angels.


They see me,

Smile at me,

with their decieving eyes,

and liar halos.


And as the clock chimes ten

The angels let out a wail of sin.

So how?

How can they sing so beautifully

for something such as this?