You were always the kid pushing boundaries. At school, some said you were the “it” kid.

You started to change at fifteen; eccentric cool turned into conservative stoicism.

You receded into yourself and I could not get in, although I tried; now you look through me and not at me.

Where did you go?
I’ve asked myself this question so many times; each answer appears insufficient to me.

Then, we saw your face on the news one hot December morning; you got Tangled in Treason.

You had a beard, wore your hair long, and your eyes looked haunted.

Where did Matthew go?
You lost your uniqueness and that spark; you receded inside and then became something new.

Why did Matthew do?
You had a vest strapped to your chest, as you entered a town square. The explosion sent you to forever or I know not where.

What will become of Matthew?
You killed yourself and a whole town square for them; cannon fodder for a lost cause.

Now, as the rain falls upon my face, I cry for you and your lost soul; it wasn’t worth all of that to die at fifteenth.

I see such a waste of humanity and so much horror to remember you by.