I write to find peace not to compete

I write and write and write
My pen bore holes through my paper.
Three words every second.
Still not enough released to allay later.
If my pen were to leave this white sheet
and find it's way alone on my desk.
Most likely I would do something
that I would sooner come to regret.
My poetry is my mud bath,
It bathes me till I've soothed.
I write and write and write
Throughout every erupting mood.
I need to get this thought out.
But sometimes the words won't appear.
So this paper remains as clean as it was.
And all I can do is stare.
Now if I look too long,
the images I have will consume me.
Then without even realizing it,
I will break down and my eyes will turn watery.
It's so hard to tell how I feel.
Sometimes too difficult to portray.
But some will ask this question
"Is he crying out for help this way?"
Maybe I am, Maybe I'm not
I really can't tell if this is what it is
But I know I write and write and write,
because it's close to that case.

I write to find peace not to compete.
If you happen to like my poems then
thank you, if you don't, then I still thank
you for at least taking the time to read them.

I really don't need a vote count, just a comment will suffice.