Photographs
Bring back
The leaves on the trees cast vivid shadows across normally pale skin, the warm orange of a setting sun giving you this… glow that otherwise goes unseen.
Our fingers laced loosely and your smile… it’s so beautiful… you’re so beautiful. I always tell you but you never listen.
And in that moment, we’re just two people, just two lovers and it doesn’t matter that you’re my little brother, that you’re my twin, it doesn’t matter because I fucking love you, Bill Kaulitz and I can see it in your eyes that you feel the same way.
No safe haven like that lasts though and it exists now only in the photographs which so liberally decorate my floor, walls and any other available surface.
It was getting late and I was getting worried, pacing my room like a madman, ear pricked for any sound, anything to herald your arrival.
The orange of the sunset slowly faded and the room gradually sank into darkness, tears streaking my cheeks as I whispered for you, saying that it wasn’t funny, telling you that I was scared, confessing my love to the bitter darkness and begging you to come home.
There are still times I wonder if you actually heard me, even though it’s physically impossible.
When they found you, or what was left of you anyway, they wouldn’t let me see. Mom came out of the stark white room in floods of tears but I offered no comfort… I had none to give.
I didn’t see you until the funeral and you looked so fragile, so small, like a little broken doll all neatly arranged on the starch white pillows.
Apparently the bastards who killed you carved the word ‘fag’ onto your perfect little stomach, but I can’t say for sure. I couldn’t see it through the suit mom chose but I pray to god they didn’t… such an ugly word should never be cut anywhere and especially never on someone as perfect as you, Billi.
Oh god, how I miss you…
Our fingers laced loosely and your smile… it’s so beautiful… you’re so beautiful. I always tell you but you never listen.
And in that moment, we’re just two people, just two lovers and it doesn’t matter that you’re my little brother, that you’re my twin, it doesn’t matter because I fucking love you, Bill Kaulitz and I can see it in your eyes that you feel the same way.
No safe haven like that lasts though and it exists now only in the photographs which so liberally decorate my floor, walls and any other available surface.
It was getting late and I was getting worried, pacing my room like a madman, ear pricked for any sound, anything to herald your arrival.
The orange of the sunset slowly faded and the room gradually sank into darkness, tears streaking my cheeks as I whispered for you, saying that it wasn’t funny, telling you that I was scared, confessing my love to the bitter darkness and begging you to come home.
There are still times I wonder if you actually heard me, even though it’s physically impossible.
When they found you, or what was left of you anyway, they wouldn’t let me see. Mom came out of the stark white room in floods of tears but I offered no comfort… I had none to give.
I didn’t see you until the funeral and you looked so fragile, so small, like a little broken doll all neatly arranged on the starch white pillows.
Apparently the bastards who killed you carved the word ‘fag’ onto your perfect little stomach, but I can’t say for sure. I couldn’t see it through the suit mom chose but I pray to god they didn’t… such an ugly word should never be cut anywhere and especially never on someone as perfect as you, Billi.
Oh god, how I miss you…