The walls drip thoughts
The blood of cliches
Their colorless bodies dull
My writing pen draws from the soul
The page’s dusty ideas are kindled
The words burning fire staring straight into my eyes.

The words whimpering eyes
Bleed Technicolor thoughts
The everlasting words slowly kindle
They pray not to become cliche
As they drift through lost travelers souls
Saving people from becoming dull

Wind wears away time, leaving gray skies dull
The sparking of vibrant eyes
Show us the crimson souls
The static emptiness of radio is the voice of thought
An overplayed song is the voice of cliches
Leaves humanity with the smoky taste of dreams kindled.

The page is stamped with the chalky blackness of words once kindled
The torn page misses its words flickering dully
The missing words are overcome by cliches
The words essence reflected in my eyes
They blow like tumbleweed through my thoughts
Blue tides recede into the fading soul.

Fingers scratch a blank canvas as I fill it with an illuminated soul
The spark of controversy flares up blackening the page as it is kindled
The fire crisps the thoughts
Burning hate’s cruel body eliminating the words once dull
The ash flees into the pits of my eyes
My foot crushes the gray angels of cliche.

Scooping up the remainder of the bodies of cliche
Watching the wind blow the gray souls
The spark of ideas flares in my eyes
The drifting bodies kindle
A gray haze raises their soul
Bodies no longer dull
The bodies stand full of neon thoughts.

The cliche black dripping pen kindles
An electrifying soul spatters metaphors on dull moping people
The flare in my eyes forcing my intense similes of thoughts upon them.