accordingtolauren - Tumblr blog

[accordingtolauren]

A creature of...

She was a creature of desire

A creature of desperation with a jaded nature

An opposer of benevolent tranquility

Yet a seeker for the havoc that cursed her into agony and torment

A creature of a burning flesh and a tempting beckon towards the collision of two hundred souls

Amorous and iniquitous, she was in nature

As she unearthed the lies

And the cold blue heart she couldn't champion

Due to her quiet demeanor and broken hope

She was a creature of a lonesome fate

Don't let the despair and sultry

Fool the onlooker

For she'll cause ache and pain

Feelings she herself is damned to harbor for enternity

A blind and wicked heart exiled her once ageless radiancy

She was a fallen angel

-lauren a.p

inspired by fka twigs

[accordingtolauren]

to love a playwright is a dangerous act

He had deemed her a tortured soul amongst his pretentious monologues.

His character had been etched upon decrepit papers from the late nineteenth century: seductive and yet laced with a stolen innocence, she roamed villages in a vengeance for what she would never be able to have. She was overcome by a lawless loneliness and sold into a life that required her to become a stranger, an enigma. Pieces of a woman that lay desecrated upon a porcelain floor, stained by the blood of suitors who failed to ease her pieces back into a whole.

Until. Until. Until.

Of course, he was only acting. The words that fell from meaningful lips were poised for an audience every evening, and she wasn't the woman formulated by a playwright in the 1800s.

She was, however, incredibly narcissistic.

But, on certain matinees, or over the late-night dinners, or half-asleep in the dim hours of the morning in which he'd practice, she couldn't help but be moved by the ways in which he enunciated poetic literature into a chaotic silence. The ways he would always find her eyes under the scrutiny of a darkened auditorium, the move of his brow in certain phrases, or the hum in his tone in fragile descriptions of gore and romantics almost brought tears to her eyes as it resonated far into the abyss that lay at the bottom of her stomach.

It also reminded her of how much she hated theatre.

-lauren a.p

[accordingtolauren]

Poor girl

What do you see when you look at me?

A broken girl with a need to bleed herself of foolish thoughts and meaningless impurities?

A thief running away with the others' hopes and dreams that she wish were her own?

The credit's applause and validation her drug of choice

A woman who took a step over the line too soon

But not quick enough to keep him there, with her, with them

Someone longing on the irreversible past, hoping and wishing for what cannot be

time, peace, forgiveness

It was never hers to manipulate between her parted lips

Parted thighs

Poor girl.

-lauren a.p

[accordingtolauren]

Are you real?

I want to ask him if he's real

To pinch the rough skin that resides upon a mirrored body

A clump of flesh and bones and hands

That I ache to hold for eternity

To see if he fades away as I open well-rested eyes

And awake from this illustrious dream that's painted my bleak streets a vibrant shade of golden hues

'Are you a figment of my imagination?'

Crafted by meticulous hands belonging to my villanous mind

Enchanted by stolen hope and fueled by petty tears

But your lips grace the thin skin of my neck and I feel your smile radiate through muscle and pulsing viens

And those worries melt and fade away with plotting thoughts

As I grow soft for your touch

I simply hope this lasts forever

As I fear I may crave you presence at every moment

Waking and deep in slumber

As you've cursed me to be in love with a slimmer of Earth's perfection

05.04.24

-lauren a.p

[accordingtolauren]

My dying wish.

All the cemeteries

That plague these neighborhoods

Are overrated in their standing

Who would want to curse their love into the ground?

A compact grief forever etched in stone

Tied to the lands that have been cursed by an unforsaken hand

As the bouquets wilt amongst their partners

Mimicking the dead that lay beneath them

Six feet under

If it was the end of the world

I’d ask you to flay my skeleton upon a flame

As all the life would reduce to ash

Speckles that once were remnants of a past life

And scatter me amongst the seas

So I’d drift away with the roaring tides

Pushing and pulling, pushing and pulling

Succumbing to the salty waters

With nothing more than the sound of a child’s laughter

And the crashing of waves

Would you do this for me, my love?

For I fear I may rot within a casket

During my untimely demise

Lost between the underground and another plane of existence

As I trace my fingertips upon the wood, counting the imperfections

Unable to let go for the worry that I may remain

In an unmarked landmark

A rusted grave with overgrown ivy

Envious of my neighbors

And their dwindling visitors

I will never have peace

Trapped under the ground

Unless you crawl in beside me

And embrace me

During my slumbers

-lauren a.p

[accordingtolauren]

that missing piece

I think there is something missing in me

gone, a runaway into that great, bright light

euphoric and serene in comparison to this lackluster realm of nasty disrepair

and a finite ending

It was small, innocent and fragile

a piece I hadn't realized had escaped

until roaming fingers intruded the hollow hole

of a naive memory wrapped in a child's hands

Maybe I was far too sensitive

too ill-equipped

to deal with the neon waves of trembling emotions

as I failed to intercept its getaway

in an effort to make myself complete once more

Since it had gone missing

my mother began to say

I was always in a hurry to go nowhere

hastily waiting with anticipation

but when I would get there i'd just stop

and relish in the chaos

complacent in the anxiety

-lauren a.p

[accordingtolauren]

to be seen, to be heard, is to be loved

The way in which he came and went was eerie, yet ineffably comforting. Like flickering prophecies or an aurora plagued by solitude, it was a captivation with an indescribable feeling only managed to be harbored by those whose chosen fate was to lose. Those with cursed fingerprints and skeletons that danced amongst near-empty closets and an ephemeral name that would never be theirs. Macabre was the weight of his lips upon bare skin, a premonition of an aching heart and empty bed in every stolen touch. A personified ardor that'd yet to be stoked by late January's biting attitude dripped from his embrace.

Maybe he was simply just a side-effect. A dissociation that leaked through the fabrics of reality and stained her present with a warming rouge. He was Norman Rockwell simplicity mixed with the oddities of the late sixties. Mismatched yet almost perfect, a thrift-store buy with a warehouse charm. Or had it been the other way around? Either way, she had an addiction to that ceaseless feeling of the blues he ignited within her.

And he could see her. And just for that, she loved him.

He saw every inch plagued by a fragile decay and baseless faith. Heard every syllable from that tired tongue. Understood all the angsts and desires and outdated apathy. Wrapped amongst her tear-stained, baby-pink sheets, he'd crack a smile that took her back to a youthful careless careful. A glimpse of meaning in a savior-less world unable to be purified by even the most innocent hands of a promised keeper.

"What's the point of getting everything you have every wanted anyway?"

He'd always whisper this as she would turn the news on and off and on and off and on to reveal the next city a higher power had engulfed into flames.

-lauren a.p

12.8.22

[accordingtolauren]

"a prophesy"

Those worn eyes sought it.

Craved it with biting teeth and a carnivorous appetite

Lusted for the illuminating show in back-alley lights

Like a sinful dweller hooked upon the next hit, inhale, high

Addicted to the climactic downfall

Prophesied to repeat itself

-lauren a.p

[accordingtolauren]

“Natalia”

Natalia.

The words dripped from the tip of my tongue

Intoxicatingly sweet and desirable

What would it be like to be your clothes

On a stranger's bedroom floor

Natalia.

Her curves fit into the pads of my hands

As if it were made for my own 

The enthrall to discover the crevices concealed within her dress

Fading away as he enters the room

Natalia.

Her soft fingertips entrancing my being

Lost within the soft braids of her brown hair

Tangled between the persuasion of her blue eyes

If only they had belonged to me 

Natalia.

A curse from heaven

Yet a poison to the touch

She was the sin that developed from a forbidden tree

And damned me to an eternity of envy 

03.2022

-lauren a.p

[accordingtolauren]

crawling her way home

Pastel waves of hurt washed over bruised limbs

crept over weeping curves and hollow crevices

and faded away down the spiraling drain of unkempt, persuading time

And a smile graced her pallid lips once in an aching century

as the seductive yearn of consolation grew like ivy upon fragile skin

in placement of a savior from a haunting isolation in the form of soft fingertips and familiar eyes

fueled by a faith for what could be

And as she fell to her knees

screaming for relief from a burdening weight of fictitious insecurities and unobtainable realizations

she crawled her way home on dirty knees

through tempting, broken mirrors and blinding lights coaxing her back into the busy streets of strangers' ignorance

As she arrived to the warm embrace of what she knew was her own, she shed tears

not for the pain she had once prevailed

but happily, for the lesions she had gained

and that it was all over

a comforting silence followed

-lauren a.p

[accordingtolauren]

My carnivorous heart

My heart is carnivorous

Making a wreckage of my rib cage

And lurching through my chest

With a red hot desire to taste the blood within your veins

And listen to that constant beat underneath pale skin and thick flesh

To burrow itself through your own bone and cartilage in an effort to locate the life source

Of another lonely heart

Oh how my pen only ever years to trace an outline of your name upon my paper

Those syllables that could write their own poem

A stand alone exposition, climax, and denouement

That presents itself to me on repeat in my mind as bursts of color in an otherwise drab environment

Now, I only ever want to be alone when I’m not with you

-lauren a.p

[accordingtolauren]

the necromancer and the beautiful, living dead

She was ice cold. Pallid flesh upon thinning bones, stretched so taught that a heavy touch could rip it as though it was a seam. A skeleton dressed in a sickly attire of paling skin and grim, decaying garb.

Her beauty was not worth the devastation that the years of burial promised.

She had hair like snakes; unruly, long trestles cascaded down the bones in her back, a fiery red hue still reminiscent in its dry, dirtied state. Her hollowed eyes spoke symphonies of endless memories, both glib and eventful, all of which he desired to learn and relive from the tip of her tongue. And her lips, oh her lips, still plump and mauve, although chapped and downturned seemingly permanently. (He could swear she still had the brightest smile when she was still living).

She resembled a willow tree in all its weeping demeanor as she stood before him, hanging in a fashion that allowed that pillow of hair to decorate her frame. The strands showered he figure, obscuring his gaze form her frame with each step she took, bones creaking as they awoke once more. Swaying in the cemetery's wind she met his line of sight, breathing in a new breath of autumn air as her lungs rattled like an old car that'd been rusting away in a garage, safe and sound and forgotten.

Her name was once Arabella.

-lauren a.p

That day he'd cursed his immortality for all he wished for was to rot inside that singular grave with her for eternity.

[accordingtolauren]

a reckless father's harrowing daughter

It strikes a certain chord within my heart when you say I'm just like you

The chord that sends an intolerable, dull ache to the center of my chest

Into the cardiac organ that was born from a sliver of your own being

But you never thought of it in that regard, that you had fragmented what was once part of your whole

When you broke it over, and over, and over again

And when they declare that I remind them so much of you

With that juvenile sense of humor and complacent sense of vexation for all that lacks logic

How I was stained with your darkened locks of ebony hair

And inherited that ivory skin that bore the reverence we both chased like children to procure

All I could manage to sheepishly murmur was

"I got it from my father"

That and the siren eyes assuming the same hazel tone that resided in your own pair of iris', vertical and resembling a viper

And your venomous tongue, words laced with a false narrative and deceptions far beyond a white lie

And your fear of commitment to something, or someone, that had the power to hold you still, that harnessed the potential of making you content

And your bottle of unsolved feelings lodged so deep within your being

A container of egregious notions and unfelt tenderness that inhibited your ability to touch another's skin without shockwaves of repulsion building within your system

Without the tick of that doomsday timepiece, that warning of a constant self-destruction in the pit of your stomach

As well as your beauty, and that performative knack for coercing those around you to stay and witness your own demise

However, though only a segment of your entire being, I think my mother's genes were overshadowed by your own

As every laugh and smile and wrinkle and blemish and conviction is polluted by you

In the ways of my musical intrigue and philosophical theories and open-minded tenet

And my vagabond spirit that grew jealous at just how easy some people settled into a singular home

I just only wished I knew what is was like to be a drifter who could leave calamity in his wake without a single care for those he maimed

To wash the mutilation off of his hands with that identical smiles on his face

And shove all of the harbored pain and regret into that bottle, pressure threatening to burst the glass

When you say I'm just like you, I hope its only the good parts

The gentle advice, and comical demeanor, and intelligent mind

The simple things that make me proud to be my father's daughter

As I shove my own anxieties into an even smaller bottle, same brand as your own

Placed deep within my tender heart where no one could ever discover it

-lauren a.p

I do not know how someone so careless could produce something, someone, so drenched in fear. An impulsive worrier.

[accordingtolauren]

to have a home.

I long to be middle-aged

To do taxes and dishes and laundry

And a house to call my own

To paint and ornament and inhabit

To plant and sow the seeds necessary for it to blossom

Blossom into a home

Where i'd never be a stranger

And i'd always have someone to sit with as i'd eat my lunch

03.11.24

-lauren a.p

[accordingtolauren]

11/19/22 (I regret you.)

I don't think I'll ever lose you.

A nameless presence haunting every faceless name I meet

Vilified by my own doing as their own soft touch reminds me of the scars you left in the shape of golden fingertips

A faulty Midas touch that brings forth pain to everything it graces

And though I was far too innocent

A bright-eyed youth plagued by a burnout so bright

That sent everything but you up into flames

I hate myself with every fall of ash upon the bed we'd lie within

Made up by predatory lies and societal fails and my pink baby blanket i'd never part with no matter how far your hand would creep beneath my dress

Now, I just want to drown into ultraviolet light

Screaming along to a poetic angst in an electric key

And i've been hurt with the might of a rapture that has taken everyone but myself and has sentenced me to an eternity in hell with nothing but a mirror and my thoughts where you you still freely roam

A permanent nightmare behind closed eyes

No one will put up with my bullshit anymore

And it has been so long since i've been touched

Or better yet, heard by another empathetic body

Kicking salt into the wounds you have left with those big brown boots you'd always wear

I flounder in the garden of Eden

Plotting a rage only known by those fooled by the notions of love

Phasing in and out of memories i've never lived

A mechanism i've mastered as a substitute to living in a world where you may wander

A world cursed by your presence is one I will never want to know.

-lauren a.p

[accordingtolauren]

the grounding of the five senses

She tells me to ground myself

In an order to escape the realities that scream perversion into apathetic ears

Five sights, Four feelings, Three sounds, Two scents , One taste

A tree, a bottle, a child, a pen, a bed

My skin, its scars, a permanent frown, the age lines of someone far too young

A simple song, my uneven breaths, static

A fading cologne and fresh nicotine

Blood upon my tongue

-lauren a.p

[accordingtolauren]

Hello all fellow readers and writers and observers alike.

I’ve been trying to find the right words to express a sincere introduction to my page and my presence on the poet/writer side of tumblr, and I hope this suffices (funny how I’m some form of a makeshift author and yet struggle to write a simple welcome note). So, I figured a quick awkward rambling and greeting would do the trick!

I have been writing since I was a teenager, and have kept all my deepest thoughts, feelings, desires, humiliations, confessions, etc. in multiple moleskin journals over the many years I have been spilling my guts upon their lined pages. Long has there been any source of outlet for my creativity, such as classrooms and clubs, that has surpassed the confinements of these hard back diaries. Recently, in an effort to express my thoughts, poetry, and mini excerpts in a manner that both brought me out of my comfort zone and allowed me to join a community of individuals who sought the same thing I did: to write and to read and to revel in the creative power that an author can emit through written word, I created an online form of a diary: accordingtolauren.

So, I guess all that wordy prose is to say thank you for taking the time to read my work! I definitely am not in any way a professional or educationally trained in the art of writing, but there is truly nothing I love more. My name is Lauren, you can call me that or lauren a.p, or accordingtolauren, or just another hopeless poet that will happily listen to your own vegabond thoughts.

Anywho, I truly appreciate each and every person who takes the time to check out my work during their scrolling. Please feel free to reblog, like, comment, or leave your own thoughts (even the random ones) as feedback and discussion is always accepted.

Welcome to my online diary/pocket journal. I'm glad you are here with me, and I hope I can produce something that brings any source of meaning or feeling or thought to your browsing here on Tumblr!

Sincerely,

lauren a.p :)