My Dearest Friend Matt

His name was Matt

Tall, brown eyes, slim figure but kind, sweet, gentle and shy.

He sat with me and all our friends all at a table as young immature eighth grader brats did.

Talk, laugh, made puns and played minecraft.

Thus, the next year. Life had changed us all, split-up, drama, quite and rejected.

We all lost touch as “friends” normally do.

Only did he and I talk during french, laugh and be a team.

Next year. Nothing gone, nothing lost, and yet lost connection.

We were friends, said hi in the hallways, texted each other.

He had left a kiss on my eye two years before, and asked me to be his girl.

But only to be friends we remained.

Guilt, torment, why couldn’t I have been a better and closer friend instead of shutting everyone else out that year?

He was shy, oh so very kind, too forgiving, too understanding, with eyes that played melodies and happiness.

No longer did they now sing.

Loneliness, emotional. He sat at the same table alone.

Headphones in, watching youtubers, youtube, music and kept up with his grades.

Now that it is May, I look back five months ago.

When I heard from a friend.

He had taken a handful of luxury pills to doze away his pain.

Five months ago, I was not able to attend his descendants.

I called over 50 times, cried and now emotionless.

Matt was his name.

The best friend and guy you could ever meet.

We used to laugh and hang out.

Lost connection, but why? Why did he have to go?

We all know the feeling of giving up, lost, emotionless, looking at our tainted canvas, standing in the blank room with blank masked people. But the mirror and the demon in him conserved a darker, sadder story.

He was gone…

He let the demon in, let it seep from his pores to the floor and tower over him like a giant in the night.

I will never forget his voice, face, name, for he was a dear and best friend.

He, him, Matt, could have made it… I know he could have… If someone would… No! I should have called and checked up on him.

In this world, humans are weak, we are fragile.

We either follow life's one rule, or allow ourselves to follow the empty, no existing rules of death.

We guzzle down pills, paint our canvas with one shade of red, give our canvas a smiley from a lighter, smoke, inhale and exhale the exhaustion of our life’s tales.

We then drink the night away, or inject or snort, or dab our way through the halls.

He did none of the sort… But only was given a pile of “medicine” from his doctor, "Dr. Demon.”

His name was Matt.

The best in the world.

Kindest.

Sweetest.

Loyal.

Too forgiving.

Hard worker.

Stood up for others.

Loving.

Friendly.

Shy.

Tall.

Had semi-long curly hair, brown eyes, pale skin and was slim.

He wore a golden chain necklace, black glasses, long t-shirts, tennis shoes, and blue jeans.

Smartest person I knew.

Never gave up.

Always helping others.

Doing the best he could.

Gave the world his best.

Loved animals.

And his name… one of my best friends…

Matt

Rest in peace, sing among the angels and let your stories be heard. You never did let go. You now look up at the night sky and can call it forever rest. Eyes closed, laying down, forever, gone my dearest friend Matt.