He was always a gangster
but to me?
He was art.
All bruised knuckles and broken promises,
and still, I chased him
like I didn’t care
if the fire caught my heart.

He told me he loved me first.
And that’s all it took.
One line from his lips
and I spiraled into him
eyes wide, mind gone,
heart painted in his fingerprints.

Call it delusion.
Call it devotion.
But I called it home.
Even when he vanished in smoke,
even when he laughed like love was a joke.

I still chased him.
Like Harley chased her pain
with a smile and a hammer,
like I could fix him
if I just bled harder.

And “This Just In”
That’s not a track.
That’s a love letter with a death wish.
He wrote it when he still saw me
wild-eyed, loyal,
ready to rip the whole city apart
just to sit beside him in silence.

They think I’m crazy.
Maybe I am.
Crazy enough to believe in the parts of him
he hides from the world.
Crazy enough to choose him
even when he stopped choosing me.

I know what they see
a girl too loyal, too loud, too lost.
But what they don’t know is

He said it first.
And that made me his.
Not by chains…
but by choice.

So yeah
I still chase him.
Through shadows, through silence,
through songs he don’t finish.

Because he was never mine.

But I was always his.