con-dom - living death lyrics
i have no memory of the present
i don’t know what i’ve just done, or where i’ve just been
i have a pad between my legs, always
it’s to stop me from wetting myself, weeing down my leg, it’s for “accidents”
i am sitting on a p-ss-soaked sponge, hour after hour
thighs chafing, cold damp against my cheeks
smell of stale urine fills my peeling nostrils
(indignity, shame, embarr-ssment, humiliation, thoughts in my head
i think, i think i think, i think therefore i am, but i am not, am i?
did i speak? did i tell you that? did i? did i?)
i need the toilet
but i can’t go on my own, can’t walk on my own
i walk with a metal frame, with a nurse on one side, with a nurse on the other
i whimper and whine and moan, pathetic little gasps and wheezes from the effort
sickening
i hate myself, what i’ve become
it’s all i can do to put one foot in front of the other
i drag them like corpses behind me, shuffle like a gross geisha
whose feet are they?
(what do you think about that, eh, michael? are you listening, eh? what did i just say?
something about money? don’t you touch my money, i know you
you’ll be putting me in a home, frittering it away
where’s my bank book? my purse?)
i sit on the toilet, p-ssing or sh-tting or both
the nurse watches, or tries not to, or they both do
smell of hot loose stools rises, fills our nostrils, punget, acrid, i gag inwardly
i stand with difficulty, metal rails thoughtfully provided, wet excrement trickles, tickles
i cannot wipe myself; it’s a balance thing, nurse wads up toilet paper, cleans me up, firm efficient movements
stained, smeared sheets drop in the bowl, brown-smeared cheeks
(indignity, disgust, mortified, i have come to this, thoughts in my head
what’s that, michael? you understood? you heard all that? i said all that? i made sense?)
smell of food, or what p-sses for food in this place
(what is this place? where is this place? come on, cliff, let’s go home now)
i have a baby’s bib around my neck, to catch the drips and the dribbles
a man holding a plate offers me a fork full of food, or what p-sses for food in this place, i have seen him somewhere before
fish, potato, maybe peas
my mouth closes as the fork arrives, can’t seem to sort that out, try again, better this time
but mouth not working, tongue all swollen, not mine, teeth missing
what did i do with that bottom denture? had it this morning, or last year, or last week
warm mush oozes from the downturned left-hand corner of my mouth
salty, sharp against lip crack
slides down my chin onto pink cardy, our brenda knitted this for me
(i have come to this. to what? nonsense
i remember it like it was yesterday, our michael and brenda’s two playing around mom’s on boxing day
it was yesterday, wasn’t it? was it? what year is it, michael? cliff? cliff?)
i am naked under one of those newfangled shower things, much prefer a bath, once a week every friday night after michael and cliff
my br–sts wilt like empty bags
skin hangs off bone, i am all bone, flesh droops and sags
someone is soaping and scrubbing, cleaning this flesh
the food crust from my face, the p-ss from my leg, the filth from my cheeks and between my legs
(i think, but i can’t express my thoughts, i can’t speak
i think, but i make no sense, or more sense
i think nonsense, speak nonsense
i can’t think, don’t think, i exist, locked, trapped
in this void, in my cell, in my living death
i have come to this)
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