When Your Eyes Are Infrared Poem by Mark Heathcote

The Voices in Your Head
Say, I'm in control now, girl
just you, remember
when your eyes are infrared
you are with the devil wed.

You'll-whirl with the wind
The fall leaves, turning red
You'll beat your poor head
Against some harbour wall
But there'll be no rest at all.

Every hour, I'll be moaning-
Like some ungrateful lover
Who'll keep you chained, slaving
Over a hot, greasy cooker
Darling, every day will be Déjà vu.

You can throw such filth-
As excrement on the walls
But you can't eliminate me,
Remember, I hold all the keys.
Your illness is a disease.

And all those (DID) personalities
They'll have to remember not to squawk
Or talk bad-of-me
Or to the asylum house
In Bedlam, you will be.