The Song I Want at My Funeral

It’s the middle of the night and I’m trying to pick what song to play at my funeral. I plug myself into the music matrix. Physically here, mentally gone. Idly shuffling through every sad song that saved me. Dwelling

in the irony, of my catharsis becoming

the closing credits. The songs play and the people enter; beta testers to my demise. Tears fall, and tears rise, on all consecutive tries to find the bloody one that’s right. I have to, if I want to fight the nails coming for my skin. I’d rather be a ghost in fictional hell than the literal one my body is in. Quick, it’s coming back. Play another one; tune in, so I can tune out. Vision turning black. Ignore the bitemarks breaking out as a bruise. It doesn’t even matter, as in the end, Linkin Park is what I choose. Memories that kept me sane, now poisoned by pain when the voice behind it all came to its own end.

Keep me in your memory, they said; and leave out all the rest. So, as a test I leave it on repeat as I watch my end over and over and over again. After all, who knows how soon I’ll need this. I could be fine tomorrow. But, you can’t always trust my brain.