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The cold blue glare

of the phone on the wall,

the words spelled out there,

just before the fall

into the rabbit hole. *Can a mole

on the sole*

of my foot mean death, or worse?

My heart would race, a horrid curse.

I'd never tell you the phrase,

not even in these hazy days.

It’s still there, an unsaid thought,

a secret battle I alone fought.