My Imaginary Friend

let me tell you about my imaginary friend
spending most of his time holding a pen
he sits at a desk
writing to lift weight off his chest
he keeps a pen at his breast
searching dictionaries for words at best
learning new writes, listening for his mess
scribbled down when there was no less
he's an open jar, he's got battle scars
no lid, but an accused in-VA-lid
from the things he did
grew up in the forties
aged in the eighties
flirted with tragedy in the two thousands
experienced mind wanderings
his out of body sate, goes to school to learn the date
comes home to tamper with ink cartridge fate
created on a day so baked
never found his way home
but the ingredients were very close
he paused; looked left; turned right
found paper pens with ink to be his new fight
correct with his scheme
never lost sight of his team
he was always battling
defined as an ink fiend
hearts that pump words in ink
paper is the template for him to think
he always sees from lack of routine
straying away from the things done daily
oh yes, my imaginary friend is DIGRESS