Gettting stuck by the power of words, they drop like heavy rain clouds, sagging on your conscience. It ripples through you, thunder. Booming. Wishing to be let out of the small condiments  of your mind.  They droop until they can no longer live within you. Ideas pour from your finger tips... lightning if you will. 
     But I mean... I wouldn't really understand......  that's because a good idea often strikes me only as often as it rains in the desert. 🤷🏼‍♀️⛈