when i paint portraits of him in my mind,
i use dark colours and give him horns
and vampire fangs.
and when i paint him,
i think of all the times
we fought and screamed,
all the times i sat on the bathroom floor,
crying.
his blue eyes
look ice cold
rather than sparkling and warm.
i know that i am equally to blame,
that it was my fire
that fuelled the volcano,
but i can't erase
this portrait of him from my head.
especially now
that the paint has dried.