Gasoline & Goodbyes
He says he loves me
like it's a threat.
His hands got a language
I learned to regret.
Sorry tastes like whiskey
spilled on a wound
says it won't happen again,
but the room still smells like fumes.
And I see that flicker
when I hit the floor.
Something hungry in the silence
behind that locked door.
You call it love
I call it learning how to bleed
quiet, clean, invisible,
just the way you need.
You hold me like a rescue
then burn the house down.
If this is love,
why's it feel like war
when no one's making a sound?
Wasn't one explosion,
just gasoline every day.
A little less me,
a little more fade away.
You tell me I'm imagining
the smoke in my lungs.
Watch the world implode,
then ask why I'm high-strung.
Maybe you think you love me,
maybe that's the worst part.
You need me to believe it,
so you don't have to face your heart.
Love don't leave you terrified
of what the morning brings.
Love don't make you hate the mirror.
Love don't clip your wings.
So keep your "I love you."
Keep your "my bad, I'm wrong."
I've learned the difference
between a promise
and a loaded gun.
You can call me crazy.
You can call me cold.
But you can't take away
the second I stopped
buying what you sold.
He says he loves me...
I don't listen anymore.
I watch his eyes.
Words lie.
Patterns don't.
Copyright © Deborah Olson | Year Posted 2026
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