Inside Another Rhyme

Someday, I know all the words, that are
spinning inside my head,
Will land upon the tip of my pen, then
onto paper, and never read.
I write not to remember, but, to forget!
The words falling on paper, a relief to be set free, no regret.

These words in such a  jumble inside
my brain
Escaping from their prison like a sweet,
gentle rain.
Most cannot comprehend, how words
just spin around,
But, inside my mind are billions, I have
yet to pen down.

And on, yet I write, as those words boil incessantly, each day.
Sometimes, as I write and even I don't know what they say
Just words escaping this writer's silly mind,
Words, that found their freedom inside another rhyme.