✨Poetic Justice✨

Slow snaps between the lines, rhythm like vinyl hissin’ in the back Step in close... yeah, right there—listen. They said justice wore a blindfold, but baby—she sees everything. She don’t walk in with gavels and robes, nah—she floats in on jazz and cigarette smoke. Real slow. Real quiet. The kind of quiet that hums like a broken streetlight at midnight. You ran your game, slick smile, sharp suit, heart colder than a jukebox coin— flippin’ through lives like tracks you ain’t ever gonna play twice. You laughed in alleys built from broken trust, danced to the rhythm of other folks’ ruin. But you didn’t know— justice got rhythm, and she don’t miss a beat. She don’t raise her voice, she just waits. Sits in the corner like an old tune you forgot the words to— until the chorus hits you in the chest and you remember: you wrote that verse. See, every lie you told was a note in her song. Every name you dragged, a chord in her melody. And now the band’s warming up, the lights are low, and she’s callin’ your number for a solo. This ain’t revenge, sugar. This is balance.