And Mona's piercing eyes gazed at this man
continuously
eighty-seven degrees could not abate her
judgmental eyes
Mona knew, just as he, that he was
wrong
he was wronging himself.
How peaceful Mona seemed while the farce
continued
She knew his mind, her eyes could see clean
through him
the smug smile on her fucking oil soaked face
proved she knew his internal
lie
how often had she seen it.
And Mona knew that other girl too, just as
she herself may have been
She saw the virtue in that man, a pity
he'll never win
Centuries past and centuries to come
another place, another man
it will happen-- again --and again-- and again.
Perhaps Mona's face was fixed there from
pity
maybe for that man alone did those lips
stretch in obvious feminine
pleasure
to see him kill himself with his own mind and
destroy what was left of pride
he was obviously dead inside and
she didn't care.
She was eighty-seven degrees from him
but zero degrees from his mind.
