Fictive Kin(dred Spirits)

My chest is crushed by this...
by the convulsions made more stinging by the self-forged chains
yards and yards of guilt

for the dear, sweet comforts of these parents of a generation
founding father and mother of a legacy
the closest to reality of my fictive kin
they love me too much
they embrace me fiercely
they guide me with the omniscient wisdom of ancient stars
and the compassionate patience that I fear could expire

if they knew how much of the homemade pasta and homemade sauce
how much of their meticulous crafting to my liking, to my loving

ended up
filthily spewed
painfully expelled
and carelessly flushed.

I lie on my right side, in what the paramedics call
"recovery position"

because I'm still alive, not because I am living

but the guilt seizes the relentless heartbeat
as the darkness tucks me in
and a ghostly hand strokes the tear-soaked hair on my face
whispering over the sounds of my gasping, pathetic sobs
that I did
the right thing

and it's okay
because I'm still alive
not because I am living