What to bring to my passing

There will be cool clear bottles in your hands
The glass getting ever warmer in your tightly gripped fingers
The prayers were meant for the ears, to drown out those abysmal
Dirges, laments, and unecessary trivial memories harboring
On demented hallucinations and bitter throw back thoughts.

Bring whatever color bests suits you, these cold dead coin
Covered eyes will see no more than the unborn,
When laughing mingles with crying, smiles clash with
Wincing and grimacing, a visual proof of your token sentimentality
Episcopal becomes alcohol,weary are worn out, dead are softly spoken.

I want your tears to fall into those tall glasses, mingle pain and pleasure
Drink your tears to coincide with the cure, to know that this awaits us all
That we are only prepared and ready to face that which we are born into
That which ends the song, wins the game, and clears space for more occupants
Hell is what we live every day, and heaven is what we make most of it.