the russian doll experiment nivi nimmagadda
The Russian Doll Experiment Nivi Nimmagadda
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Edition, 2019
Copyright © Nivedita Nimmagadda, 2019
Cover design © Sahana Vathsa, 2019
Requests for permission should be addressed to
nivinimmagadda@gmail.com
all the glamour and the trauma and the fucking melodrama all the gunfights and the limelights and the holy sick divine nights they’ll talk about us, all the lovers how we kiss and kill each other they’ll talk about us, and discover how we kissed and killed each other we told you this was melodrama you wanted something that we offer
lorde
here are a few things you should know before reading this: 1.
there are seven poems
2.
every poem is half the number of lines of the previous poem
3.
the red is important
4.
i wrote this listening to lorde’s album, melodrama, so listen to it while you read
to my brother sometimes i wonder what you thought when you saw the bloodstained tissues in the trash can i know you were only 11, but did you believe me when i told you they were from last night’s bloody nose i wonder a lot about what you really think of me when the banter subsides and everything goes quiet mostly because i can’t imagine what i would do if i ever found out you were as reckless as me i learned about life the wrong way; i shouldn’t have resorted to trial and error so many times i trusted everyone a little too much; i hope you know that there’s a fine line between concern and curiosity and if you step over the line, you will find yourself calling out to empty shadows and swallowing dust when tomorrow comes around you will find a bluish tint on your cheeks from the fear of facing a new day but i promise it gets better and soon you’ll find warmth in the sun that pours through your blue curtains when your tongue first tastes the bitter punch of vodka, don’t be surprised when you crave for more you’re not alone, everyone longs for those five minutes of detachment from the world those five minutes will let you breathe until everything comes rushing back, but don’t let it consume you try new things, but please be careful you’re still so fragile and stay away from meth and heroin you’re turning 13 soon and that’s when your mind starts getting crowded and the hormones kick in don’t blame the chemicals when the poison drips from your starved lips and bruises mom and dad’s skin people will break your heart, but don’t be confused by the vicious heat that accompanies heartbreak do not lean on the feeble web of anger and retaliation, do not test its strength, it will not break your fall sometimes you will feel like you are walking on an ocean of euphoria that you can’t drown yourself in and on those days you have to remember that you have to learn to swim first so that you don’t let yourself die in a sea of ignorance and deceit that will weigh you down until you sink into the dull and trodden sand there will be restraints, chains clasped onto you by your friends, parents, and everyone else around you but always remember to keep your truth in sight because if you end up losing sight the chains will cut into your wrists and leave you pale and stuck in a cycle of self-destruction when you were a baby, i would run in circles around you until i was so dizzy that only stars persisted but i could still hear your laughter and though i was only 5, i remember everything about that moment i remember how your eyebrows shot up and your eyes caught the light of the football game playing on tv i pine for that feeling every single day, and soon you will too, but you won’t find it for a long time so hold onto your memories, hold on to the moments that fill you to the brim with nostalgia where you catch the moonlight dancing across faces, nights filled with mosquitoes and a gentle madness don’t let your respect for others and for yourself, wilt, reviving that respect will take years losing respect for something as vain as a few high-fives will leave you in shackles, it will haunt you it’s a dangerous game to play, leaving you desperate, grabbing at broken moralities, trying to stay afloat even at 13, i know its hard for you to think of the right words to express yourself and that frustrates you but your silence is deafening sometimes and it makes me want to scream to fill the haunting void but there are enough people screaming at you, so i’ll sit with you in this silence until you learn to trust me thinking of your eventual silence makes me want to carry all your distant pain on my own shoulders i wish i could tell you everything i knew, every feeling i’ve experienced, i wish i could protect you but i’m helpless, no matter what i do you will come out the other end with scratches, a changed man one day, when we’re both older and wiser, we will meet again at the driveway of 241 edgebrook drive and after all those years, the hurt of our sins and mistakes will finally wash away and as your big sister, i promise that at that moment we will once again find peace in our chaos
the diabolical after-effects of love & it’s daily mishaps season 2 episode 17 the purple and jade lights flicker across my face and i awkwardly stare up at the ceiling and everything comes rushing back, i’m caressed by the fingers of roguish thoughts i should’ve forgotten but even the fingers are tired, their bones are starting to rattle and ache between the long lapses of silence when i let alcohol love burn my throat, i let myself sink into the soft embrace of amnesia my shoulders are no longer tense, my vision is blurred with shaky cutouts and papery silhouettes i’m making a deal with the devil, the lapse of judgement my body craves comes at a high price i’m lying in a backyard of dying grass, and i’m alone in this limbo between sobriety and drunkenness i trace my fingers along the seams of my jeans, trying to forget that i’m running on fumes it’s hard to put everything on the back burner when you’re half guilty and half relieved i’m not going to feed myself that bullshit, that love hurts that it’s toxic and addictive and too much of it is bad for you i already know that, nobody would be chasing that high if it didn’t hurt just a little bit if only he could hear me sound like paul celan right now, it’s dark and humid and i’m overwhelmed by fear, this hasn’t happened for a year the air is stale, it reeks of cowardice, deceit, sympathy, and i’m inhaling all of it again i don’t even really like paul celan why am i thinking about all of this now, the night’s over and the damage is done and i’m paying a dude 300 bucks to listen to my ugly sniffs until he gets me back to my place the uber driver tries to ignore my sobs in the back seat and my hair sticks to the sides of my face i can’t tell if it's because of the sweat or the tears tell me, is it the sweat or tears, i need to know wait, no, i’m done thinking about this, i swear
the world wide web i glance back and forth from the huge 1999 dell computer on the desk to the white door i can’t let them see me playing cyberchase on pbs kids when i’m supposed to be doing my homework and by playing i mean checking up hacks online and using those my eyelids are starting to fall, maybe i’ll just sleep here on the desk for a little while oh crap, crap, crap i slept too long, they found me, they’re mad “the internet is toxic and addictive and too much of it is bad for you” they’re screaming, okay, i’ll just cry for a bit, say sorry, and leave it alone oh how i wish i listened to them then how i wish i realised that sooner before i was caught up in it and how i wish i didn’t get into the habit of crying, saying sorry, and leaving it alone
a dandelion chainsaw of honesty there’s beauty in normalcy, the mundane, vanilla things when everything looks bleak you can always rely on the unsettling comfort of normalcy the cymbals of normalcy are clamouring and ravenous, we get so caught up in it, why do we even bother rose gardens, rice fields, cemeteries, churches, temples, and crimes mean nothing to us we just survive in our prosaic straight jackets without a purpose for long lapses of silence but it’s not like we’re unhappy, it’s not like we care or want to die it’s kind of picturesque really
a political haiku a ribbon of crimes they wear the mauve sash with pride and we bow to them
the bangalore metro i press my head on the cold metal pole, it hurts from staring longingly at the ribbon of blinking buildings i shouldn’t have stared so long, staring is rude, but it’s hard not to stare at tattered, grimy beauty
gospels and axioms the truth is toxic and addictive, it is beauty, it is crime, it is pride, it is awkward, it is mundane, but it is everything
an explanation This entire thing is about truth if you didn’t understand by the way. I don’t owe any sort of explanation, but I’m going to give it anyways. I know I told some of you that I couldn’t write for a while, well, it’s been around 11 months of not being able to write and I finally did it. I told some of you I couldn’t write because I was finally happy (ew). I honestly think I was just trying to find excuses not to write because I would constantly write to please others and it really messed with my head. I didn’t want to write in rhymes, I didn’t want to write about being sad, or about being happy, but I felt obliged to, and that was exhausting. I guess I was terrified to write because I was scared I couldn’t write well, I felt like a fraud.
acknowledgements Thank you for sticking with me through everything. I’m really really proud of this, even though it’s only seven poems and I have you guys to thank for getting me through my writer’s block and helping me finally write for myself. Thanks for taking care of me and always making me laugh. No, you’re not my inspiration, don’t let it get to you. So here’s to you guys: Moksha, Niyati, Isha P., Isha S., Tanvi, Aditi, Reva, Shivangi, Yemoe, Anishka, Roshni, Anjali, Avni, Neha, Sumer, Pranay, Abhi, Archie, Radith, Shivam, Tharan, Vix, Rathin Huge thanks to Sahana Vathsa for designing the cover at such short notice, you’re so talented and I can’t wait to see all the amazing things you accomplish in the future.
all of the dreams that get harder all of the things that i offer you and all of the shit that we harbour make all of the kids in the choir sing maybe all this is the party maybe the tears and the highs we breathe maybe all this is the party maybe we just do it violently but you’re not what you thought you were lorde
“i wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. it’s when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what. you rarely win, but sometimes, you do.” - to kill a mockingbird, harper lee
