Pain On My Fingers. Poem by robert down

My brain is overload...overfilling...spiraling...spinning...with a thousand thoughts of knowledge, and need, and its in there churning like milk to cream.
Its overflowing...spilling out... and yet it wants to be crammed in till there no space for it...with more and more.
However it may not have the capacity to hold it all.
It must come out...relaxing...with content and with passion...
It will come out, but not before the churning bowl has considerably enlarged, with time, in a time when content it not good enough and needs must...