HIS NAME IS J RIGHT?
ALL I NOW I KNOW HE ALWAYS ON MY MIND
WISHING HE WAS MINE AND OH MY MY MY
NOW I KNOW HE MORE THAT A LOVE THAT RHYME
HIS VOICE IS SMOOTHER THAN WHAT MAKES WINE
KNOWING THAT HIS PIANO GROOVES ME MAKES MOVES ME MORE THAN THE HOURS SO SOOTHE ME TO IT DROVE ME TO THE MOMENT THAT KEPT ME ALL OVER NIGHT LISTENING TO THE SKIES FALLING OVER ME IN THIS TIME.

There's things I never want to feel again. Not for them. Not for me. Not for no one. Not for no situation. There's things I never wanna see cause it'll be hot flashes of what used to be. Things I used to do. The person I used to cater too. The person I used to be. The person whom I've shed. That ain't me. Thats dead. Those aren't my feelings. Those aren't real. They're not real. I've healed. I've healed. They were. Believe me they were. But not no more. Those feelings don't belong to me, they don't right? Not more, no sir. The one with untended emotional wounds and unmet needs. The one you never tended, prioriorites you didn't feed. They don't belong with the new me. With the new year. With the new skin. They belong with the broken. The old me with kinks, swollen bottom lip. The teary eyed, the big brat. With the small hands that fit perfectly into yours. That's the old me with the old you. May they rest in peace. But they keep me up on nights like this, tell em please stop calling me. Please ** stop calling me.

i want to be independent
but i become enticed in the feeling of having others build me up to make a 'better me'
but people are unreliable
they love you till they see all your vulnerabilities and your flaws
then they blast it for the world to see
and they wonder why i no longer make the effort to talk
i distance myself
i create a world where i need to be independent
because no one can be trusted

Not a horseman, nor a coach,
The horses are down the high pitched coast;
Only a weak whip-like reproach
Made the horses run from their own ghost.


Down the hill, the horses flying
Into the deep like doomed pegasuses' *****;
The neighs and waves are crying,
Replying the peaceful song of a fiendish siren.


Before the dark water turns to scarlet,
It paints a mad reflection of them horror haunted;
A demerited dark life-span mindset
That vanishes in the wild waves delighted.

I'm rarely dreaming.
Waking from a rarely dreaming,
I'm always screaming.
Only in my head, without a single sound,
But it's still far too loud.


Realities are deceiving.
I'm never sure of when I'm dreaming;
I'm always waiting for awaking.
The thoughts and doubts form a crowd;
I cannot look around.


I'm barely sleeping.
I'm afraid I will wake up in the evening,
And it's still the evening.
Being alone, in the deep night drowned,
Dreams or deeds astound.


It's a funny feeling.
The morning should be relieving,
Even if it's without meaning.
At least, I could be sure of the ground,
Not just being without a bound.


Am I dreaming?
I have no landmarks steering;
I might be sleeping.
Dream in a dream in a dream sowed;
In a mind that may be underground.

Natureza que cantas tão bem...

Alaridos que quero sempre na noite ouvir,
Lua que para mim olhas sem me sentir,
Os charcos das águas mornas que esperam a madrugada,
Vinhas com Uvas amadurecidas para a lagarada.

Tudo parece ser um ciclo que foi divinamente elaborado,
Fazer vinho me faz lembrar Jesus Cristo crucificado.
As uvas são pisadas e até maltratadas com pés de homens humildes e nobres,
Podem ser ricos e pobres.
A Deus eu não sei como agradecer,
Por sentir esta natureza que parece nunca morrer...
Abraço amigo,
Victor Marques