19 August 1692 Poem by Quênia Lalita

i spit on the split of a second long gone
splitting myself in between before, after and doomed
i cross the bonfire of my childhood
before i found out what being alive really meant
and how suddenly all i wanted was to be gone
it's not a bottomless notion
i'm not rushing to be six feet under
i suck on my thumb at times because
i don't think thirty two years is enough to call it quits yet
under my bed, under my red round belly
over his head, still over heels no matter how long i don't see his face
a nice sensation on the floor of a public toilet too
the reencarnation of a witch that died in Salem,19 August 1692
eager to be, eager to lie, eager to bang my skull against a wall
i spit on the split of a brand new second
yearning to be completely alone