They were somehow lost actors. Actors in a still Easter band parade. Puppets in a circus, lingering cruelly and crudely in India. Faces a cold mask with vintage ice cream tubs to sweeten them and sniper rifles powdered with Parma violets made them feel less like a sin (sinners) and more like saints. 

Carnival (a carnival of the mind) something you would find in a dark twisted fairytale (Egyptian fantasia) Twisting vines with ethereal bittersweet shimmers, a lingering faint scent of twilight musk and china sandalwood graced in shadows. He sees her (truly sees her) for what she is- more than a china doll- more than what she is made for(what they bred her to be) a femme fatale to seduce mankind (one night stands) she deserves better than this  but she doesn't mind, doesn't feel, doesn't care (or so she says) a sadist (he can't do anything about it. This is there life it's what they’re both bred to do, seduce and kill)  with a fuchsia pout and chartreuse sun hue hair with red Modena and aurulent shades. They say she's the sun queen -rules everything her sunrays touch. Skeletal fingers an elemental chaos smooth the outlines of frostine skyscrapers and African jade. Her petals bloom a beautiful violet diamond, a jasper bloodstone, the tiger eye. She is much more than that she is everything to him, he lives and breathes for her and only her. She is the only one that this is all worth it for -for flowers crawling in between the ribcage wrapping around the heart and destroying what was left of him of them (of their hearts) it's symbolic. He wishes he could keep her frozen (the sun) steal all of her hues then maybe he'd be beautiful too. Their Seoul killers with a candy coating, maybe if they had ran away to where coloured smoke wheels were instead of smoke coloured bombs they would be (feel) safe, not so heartless and alone. If she could she would be (decided she wanted to be) a bottled top lemondae blonde, lemonade core instead of an apple, poisonous, bitter but sweet, with butterflies in the crevices of her collarbones and the marrow of her bones. 

She's in Thailand. Thailand is (was) her favourite country (not so much now) the dead weep there (her victims) heavenly dead creatures, red cardinal nights. The acacia tree flowers cough the blood cancer out, the left over’s of snap dragon flower skulls remain. 
She prefers to hide away in paradise island to bathe in the plankton- bioluminescence clings to their skin. Celestial silk and starrified starlight purifies them an essence infused in water droplets. A delicate prism rainbow, moonstone shadows retracting light off of Monet’s moonlight tropic sealight, a blue waltz. The sky carved with alexandrite gemstones the ghost of changing colours.

She has a satellite heart yellow jubilee sadness 

There's the odd strange time of the day- early in the mornings. When the rain begins to pelt and the world is a delirium haze, with an enigmatic hue of water colour splashes and a shroud of misty, ice wraith blue- with layers of rough pink rhodonite crystal minerals hanging from chandeliers (it looks like rain frozen in time) She likes this time of the day the most it makes her feel colder (reminds her that she still feels) the feeling is too good to be true a brush of melancholy, she wants to cry tears of bliss. She smudges the palatinate streaks of blue on her face- caused by the rain- melted and blurred from her irises. 
Plumeria black tiger flowers entwined on Zaffre Mountains hang over her head; look how they sleep painting the night with wisteria's grace- black and pink mystique. 

An oriental Sicilian blush sweeps over her face, tropical sleep orchid.

India is cadmium orange, jacinth yellow, butterscotch bronze and forgotten dusty violet (the wisteria kind) different to Thailand. Thailand is nostalgia- Persian green, harlequin jade just like (as) Qri is who is the definition of harlequin. She changes with the colours as the seasons go (all washed up and dried) 

They used to live in a coloured (hazy) textured dream (where their hearts were most alive when it was full of life, gold diamonds- tanzanite light dreams and Swedish neon) 

She painted his back in ink- lithe fingers delicately smooth the rough limestone skin, she feathers it out with wing flutters, dreamy mood indigo. He always thanked her it hurt less. 

One night they stay in a hotel in Arabia, a rich gold infused rose- intimate peony eyes, gunmetal lids on the lookout, rifle to the side. Arabian nights are summertime sadness, surreal, luxurious and everything she could ever ask for. Lavandula dentata in a vase- silk petals on coloured water, ruby opal heart- her jasmine's Egyptian musk "let's just have a break please just this once” he cries- she sighs- he cries hard- she looks at him- stares, blinks, blinks more than once, butterfly spider lashes reaching to the stargazer blossoms- honeysuckle dipped, overgrown, too delicate- too much grace-too much heart, dripping marigold marmalade on magnolias. Her heart ripped open- rolls onto the floor- Persephone’s pomegranate or was it Cleopatra? She wouldn't know. She tastes ginseng on her tongue, a smothering taste- star whiskey- rising from the back of , it chokes her, suffocating her insides, clouding her minds clarity, a corset struggle. What's she supposed to say? There’s nothing else left to say- but now she wants to cry too

Summertime sadness

She gives him a versicolored humming bird trapped in a golden gilded cage; in exchange he gives her a topaz gemstone. The gift from the Egyptian sun god Rah Amaterasu is her death maiden.

She catches a drop of water in her hand; 10 000 emerald whirlpools (a gemstone) Prussian blue eyes and Peridot teardrops mixed  with royal purple there blue bloods a broken  celestial phoenix tainted with equinox nights and Neptune’s lonely eclipse entangled in Pisces' lover.
 

 "May lavender and amethyst minerals stain your eyes and lids?"

On kind nights she likes wine- fine rouge malted blush wine with praline yellow and pink candied cakes, spiked with orriswood cedar cognac shots and coloured ecstasy pills of heliotrope, sandlewood and damask rose which she had found at dawn along with the jamaican queen of the night flower (a love potion for him and her) She hides them away in an antique treasure chest("these rare exotic gifts blessed by the gods must be hidden away" she would say in frantic berserk madness) adorned with flurries of crushed shells and silver snow; she had found in two halves, one at the bottom of the Indian ocean and the other in Lake Retba- when she was searching for lost treasure and the rotten crowned jewel of Africa, decaying and dripping with carmine, crimson hearts- (jewels in the crown) underneath a star kissed flower; he always said she was his pirate queen of hearts (looking for treasure) when she wasn't his mermaid doll princess.

he watches her bathe in golden quince, red lychee and chocolate orchids in a horse engraved bathtub, chain smoking frosted blackcurrant, geranium black devils with a heart and buttferfly ashtray filled to the brim with blackberries and blackberry blue ash wildflowers whilst he plays claire de lune on the piano and on the cherub angels harp. 

Sweet pea, baby doll, she's somewhat of a sadist; his muse of music and romantic lunacy. She likes the kill the thrill of the sweet sugar candy rush. 

Blithe little china doll, her cupid’s wing takes flight with a Japanese parasol- the kind that burns haloes and fire(s) in India.

On cold sorrow filled winter nights she dances on ice. Snowflakes melting in her hair, turning it a lighter shade of frosted, garnet with streaks of Smokey amethyst dust highlighted by the moonlight. She is all sinew, fragile willowy limbs and silk whispers; shy wisps of smoke a delicate holly filled berry wreath wrapped around a poison tree on needle ice dandelion dust frozen spun gold sparks in the air intoxicating him the ballet dancing killer of his heart immortal, amaranthine purple, undying in a smoking glimmer of a beetle green pipe dream a little twirling baobella (if he could capture her in a music box he would), sweet serendipity in a blue plume of Venus fly trap primadonna winter frost where magpies bloom 

Icy snow witch a daredevil beyond the sea

Soft winter days start of as a soothing lullaby, gentle and delicate but the wrath of her dance her enticement turns the sun into a flaming ivory auburn Babylon, a blushing blood ruby orchid flower. Once blooming now enveloping her with its petals, in reflections of vibrant stained glass shards. A multicoloured rainbow a pantone chaos. Her hair with a crown full of stars igniting in kaleidoscopic pinwheel sparks and gradient plum blossom glitter with peacock feathered winged lashes and sun shimmers, it's picturesque. 

They enter a trance of violence (ultra violence) Summertime noir caused bruised, dip dyed indigo veins to bloom over rose bud hips, left over isabelline marks on juxtaposed alkaline, milk skin- a remaining scar from bullets and knives, queen of valkyrie. She's tormented, bound to him, honeysuckle , dizzy pink elephant delirium, the spinning apricot forget me not’s soon she'll forget him, shrouded in blossom dust. 

Most relationships are ephemeral like windflower May blossoms but theirs is everlasting (or so he likes (wants) to believe) 

His ambrosia's Clair de Lune it's what helps him sleep at night mouth full of poppies and souls filled with spider lily blood and mandarin amber white musk strangled with violet leaves and blue wisteria 

let me find you my little cloud boat to find east of Eden 

(Violent violence nostalgia coated in tom ford's shanghai liliy fragrance) waltzes to the grave with italian bergamont chrysanthemum sparklers and a dark witch hazelnut lullaby for a mint julep bird to heal the soul with sugar frosted blackberries and liquer de cassis caramel. Blasphemous butterfly fish antlers bejewelled in White amaryllis and turkish rose. Red wine sinks into redcurrant woods of gardenias, the deer drowned in the red Indian ocean. Blonde violet honeysuckle of twisting cyber metals- as they watch them like prey through the blue bird theatre, spiced pomegranate gin, the blood orange snowbird. While they drink there plum liquor from prisoners souls. 

A deathless girl, is it a god inside you, girl?
Maybe in another world she holds narcissus’ head under and presses sweet kisses to blue lips.
Obsession, femme fatale, gone girl
Death paralyzed her 
You were my dreamcatcher once 

  (But) and the dead will (shall) conquer Paris

"Despite this cruel world 
Even with all my flaws 
You surprise me 
With just how 
   Perfect you are"  

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