Notes for My Funeral

No one’s allowed to tell
their sad story at my funeral.
No one’s allowed to tell
my sad story at my funeral.
There must be cocaine.
Talk shit about all the people
I hated. I’ll still hate them
(probably even more when I’m dead).
Play Lou Reed’s “Perfect Day”
on repeat. Don’t cry.
Don’t be embarrassing.
It’s not a good song
to do drugs to so after
play Fleetwood and take
a Xanax. Rent a room
overlooking Central Park
and get more drugs.
Invite strangers up.
Don’t return desperate
texts from people who
hound you because
they’re boring.
Just think about me.
Think of New York.
How the people who
never liked me never
liked me because they
always assumed I was
having too much fun.
And you know what?
I was. I loved being alive.