The Same Chorus

He is standing in the middle of the street
Fidgeting with a cigarette in his hand,
The ashes slowly falling to the ground,
The embers flaring—voicing their final words
Before extinguishing themselves.

The silhouette of his sunken shoulders
And hanging head
Is outlined by six letters
That announce their existence with flickering neon lights.

L – I – Q – U – O – R

From a neighboring window sill
He hears an ominous chorus begin to play.
He begins swaying to every note,
Reminiscing with every lyric.

Every memory is eating at his flesh.
Every letter etching its way into his bones.
Branding him another failure.
He is standing in the middle of the street
Fidgeting with a cigarette in his hand,
The ashes slowly falling to the ground,
The embers flaring—voicing their final words
Before extinguishing themselves.

The silhouette of his sunken shoulders
And hanging head
Is outlined by six letters
That announce their existence with flickering neon lights.

L – I – Q – U – O – R

From a neighboring window sill
He hears an ominous chorus begin to play.
He begins swaying to every note,
Reminiscing with every lyric.

Every memory is eating at his flesh.
Every letter etching its way into his bones.
Branding him another failure,
Another star to cross paths with.

She, on the other hand,
wanted nothing to do with him.
She thought that if she treated every memory like poison,
and every shot like a remedy,
that the regret and shame would disappear miraculously

Maybe then betrayal would stop being her Warden Officer
dotting the sky with guilty thoughts,
Or a voice preaching the holy gospel of lust.

So she persuaded the sun to follow into the night.
Substituting sun rays with the city lights,
And the warmth that radiated on her skin
With the burning sensation felt in her throat.
She went on stumbling between bars
Listening to the same slurred lines of romance.

She was waiting.
Waiting for her heart to flutter

Like when he spoke to her.

She laughed.
She cried.
She fell.

Listening to the same chorus.


Writer: Anthony Camacho fell in love with rap and literature at a young age. He saw both of them as a way to see the world from different perspectives. As a result, his love turned into a practiced passion. His passion for writing soon found its home in poetry and spoken word, allowing him to create events inspired by those around him, their emotions, and his own problems.

Artist: Ali Ha is a student at Fullerton College.