My Imaginary Friend

My imaginary friend,
Has the strangest name,
Which is much too long and cumbersome,
To write or to explain,

His appearance is barbaric,
Because he never goes outside,
That thick and complex forest,
Where from others he can hide,

His hair like tangled night,
Around his face does flow,
But when he lets me brush it,
It gleams and seems to glow,

He wears upon his back,
A tattered dark black coat,
That he's had since forever,
And he will not let it go,

As I said before,
He lives among the trees,
And has no other friends,
But myself and the breeze,

Sometimes in the forest,
When I am all alone,
He comes out of my head,
And together the world roam.