We stand on the wall with love,
ruled by proclamations and fear.
Fear the most, of turning into our mothers and fathers,
of repeating their small acts of betrayal,
which culminate and crumble at the core
and hang there in the corner of our memories.
I imagine them as tiny crabs for some reason, trying to latch on,
to assert themselves, with lives of their own,
jealous of ours.
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