Words Form - a poem

I see the words form on the page
In a never ending scribble
From my brain through the pen
In an everlasting dribble

The tank is full, the pot empty
The battery's discharged
I get the feeling when I rhyme
The counter's been enlarged

Not written for quality,
and certainly not style
The ink in the pen goes on
For many a literary mile.

They just start to pour
From my mind to the line
Interrupting meals and driving
Showers and even bedtime.

In these words you might find
My heart, worries and soul
But one thing I don't have
of the pen is total control.