He was the muse to her destruction, with her beauty always came a certain violence. She was the moon during his indigo hours, the shadow to his stardom. They traded pretty lies to cover up the ugly truth. Wasting their youth on the fantasy of each other, glorifying something that was never real. Bloodshed and tears, black and blue blemishes; screaming words of sorrow for the hope of empathy. Next to the king of death stood his queen of gloom, mourning their terminal love in the hours of blue. Ruthless man, narcissistic soul, she could never break down his untouchable walls. The glamorous disease was never enough for his dominating rage, life in the fast lane is never as it seems. The women, the drugs, the pills and thrills; the sex, the stains, the tears filled with guilt. She was a damaged piece of art that he held up for a price. Held ransom in his heart, red blood vessel eyes. She pretended not to notice that she was trapped in this game, lines on the mirror, lost in the fame. Hypnotized by the alluring fantasy of disaster, incriminating evidence tattooed on their skin. Brutal man and his gory affair, the sad dreams, the nightmares. Baby blue bruises, pushed and shoved, shot down by his bullet, drugged with love.