Gauri Saxena

18 year old liberal arts student from Dehradun, India. Sapiosexual with a terrible temper and a weakness for tiramisu. Loves Simon and Garfunkel, Ismat Chughtai and differential calculus.

 

 

 

Shrouding with Post-Modern Illusions

 

Your caramel popcorn and cigarette scent couldn't cover up the sharp
metallic odor emanating from our living room as you walked in
And found the walls covered
in my blood spattered all across like a Jackson Pollock
And a note that lay on the coffee table we’d made following a Pinterest DIY
With trembling hands you pick it up and sniff cautiously, - it smelled of Bleu de Chanel, my signature scent.
You look at the strong cursive and murmur, “These be her very c’s, her u’s and her t’s” and bark with bitter laughter- eight months with me and you were already spouting Shakespeare.
You read:-
“I’m done.
Done with the half-truths and lies.
Done with being treated like an extension of your personality.
Done with my body being treated like that airport terminal you pass through.
I wonder who you thought of as you shoved three fingers up my cunt.
I bet the girl in your head was the perfect 36-24-36 who worshiped you
She probably wanted you to open the door for her
Have you make her walk two steps behind you
Wear that La Senza lingerie because you wanted her to
Not talk to other boys because you told her so
Instead you got
An anorexic bipolar girl who shaved her head on a whim
Who would always split the bill
Who smoked weed with the guys
Who told you to fuck off when you told her she was too ‘feminist’.
You got the girl who listened to post- modern shit and loved Kathy Acker.
The girl whose life resonated with berlin- artparasites’ Facebook posts.
I’m sorry I’m too damn independent for you.”
You fold the note back, sigh and walk out.
Hiding behind the couch, drenched in blood, I smile.
 “You can tell so much about a person by the way they leave you.”