blood orange kafka

Distance doesn’t matter when it’s the heart 

Locked out with ice like glass

Four eyes lock. But if it breaks, it’s all yours-

The blood. The responsibility to clean up.

Take it like a Champ™!

Own your destiny. Even if you run (and let’s say that you do);

You will always end up at that shore

Sea created by red oranges 

You will try to leave. But there’s no where to go

Nothing to see but the shore 

You’ll wish you sat on that lawn chair, but you won’t.

You’ll stick your feet in the pulp,

Knee deep then neck deep.

Blood oranges are supposed to taste sour,

But that sea will taste like rust.