The iron-heavy droplets of my pensiveness

It’s an undecipherable flood. Not a rush, but a flood because I stand shoulder deep in a stagnant pool of my own thoughts. And in the most intense moment of my dislike for this water, I’m sometimes tempted to surrender to it’s aqua layers and go down like a heroic sailor shot in the battle by some rusty musket. But when the flood has receded, dried up, and evaporated, my gills yearn for some relief and I almost wish it back. And when I’ve done my rain dance and hopped in hooting circles all my heart allows, it comes trickling down, collects, and I find myself once again standing in this burdensome flood I love so much.