bill kaulitz - psycho

Bill learned how to disappear while standing in the same room. He memorized breathing patterns, footsteps, the exact moment people felt safe enough to stop looking over their shoulder. He didn’t feel guilt because guilt required believing something was wrong. To Bill, obsession was discipline. Love was surveillance. Thoughts were cages, and once someone lived inside his mind, they never left. He didn’t imagine hurting them. He imagined keeping them. Forever. The world called him broken. Bill preferred the word necessary

Bill learned early that being noticed was dangerous. So he became quiet, then invisible. He studied people the way others studied mirrors, memorizing when they felt safe enough to stop paying attention. Watching felt like control. Control felt like love.

He grew up, stayed unseen, stayed necessary. People called him empty. Bill called it discipline.

Then Jim walked in laughing, unguarded, alive in a way Bill never allowed himself to be. Bill didn’t want to touch him. He wanted to keep him. Inside his mind. Where nothing could take him away