The Villanelle of Jean McGuire.

Sometimes I think my inner voice lies to my inner ear.
I'm not convinced and it makes me feel small,
But what I hear is what I here.

My inner eye sees all those inner visions appear
That scare me into a vivid, total recall.
Sometimes I think my inner voice lies to my inner ear.

My inner touch gropes those inner textures unclear
Blindly fondling for the predictable fall,
But what I hear is what I here.

My inner light pulses like a bright, fluorescent sphere
Dancing erotically to deceive and enthral.
Sometimes I think my inner voice lies to my inner ear.

My inner heart fears for my inner mutineer,
Watching in horror as I'm sucked into the squall.
But what I hear is what I here.

Is inner truth supposed to sicken me with fear?
It shouts out words that aim to outrage me and appal.
Sometimes I think my inner voice lies to my inner ear,
But what I here is what I hear.