I Know

I knew you when you were oh-so-high, by your polish relatives, by your dark hair. I knew you when you had the female friend you had, to play and taunt, as she would you.

I know you from some other place, some other demension, some other time. Do you remember, the girl, Deutschland, in the polka-dotted dress? With the dark hair? What was her doll's name? I would know if I could remember, but she was a ghost. Hilde? "Die Schoeneste"? You know. Her name. The name of the doll. She spoke to the man. At the camp. "Arbeit Macht Frei". That camp. Im Potsdam. "Die Russen sind mein Fruend nicht" or something along those lines. I studied "Deutschsprache" to know what the fuck she was saying. Because she haunted me. Am I her? Am I someone who knows? Or do I not know, being born into someone else who seemingly won't see it? Was there, in Berlin, a mass riot that no one knows about? Was that me, to see the things I didn't want to, or is it a future? I don't know. All I can see is the riot. And before that , the girl, in the polka-dotted dress, with the doll, with the long black hair. What, if anything, does it fucking mean?

I do not know. All I see are visions, versions of the past or of the present, I do not know. Sometimes I wish life was sci-fi, because then, I would know for sure. Or is it just me? And now do I have to learn Chinese?

I sincerly, and deeply, hate being me. With all my heart. I want to die. But to die would be them, to find out who is haunting me with these images. To die is to know, and to know for the little I do would be a travesty of justice. Or so...I would like to think. How many people do you know, that would like to die, to find out why the ghosts of years ago haunt them....