I had a crab so snippy, it snipped at my ankles and kept me from doing anything but crab walk.
I walked like a crab for so long; I forgot anything other than crab talk.
I longed for a crustacean that held love I could foster.
When I left the mean crab, I fell in love with a lobster.
I spoke like a crab, and I felt like an imposter.
Perhaps deep down, I was always a wimp.
Maybe I should have found a sweet shrimp!
I love my lobster, but he’s always sad.
He’s scared he’ll become just like his crawdad.
My hands are intertwined with his claws.
In sickness and in health is the clause.
He’s sour like he was boiled and drizzled with lemon zest.
You can’t just stop being depressed.
My lobster wasn’t always sick.
His brother was turned into a fishstick.
I want him to be happy, am I being selfish?
I’m on a beach surrounded by shellfish.
There are many clams that are much moister.
I just couldn’t fall in love with another oyster!
If I can’t help him, I’m surely a monster.
There isn’t a scallop that could compare to my lobster.
These days he never leaves his rockbed.
Nasty thoughts fill his hard head.
Life keeps coming and going; it negs.
He can’t catch up with his ten little legs.
He never interacts with the other shellfish.
I want him to be happy, am I being selfish?
I think of how I ran away from the crab.
Did I leave him in his sickness and make out with a scab?
He was abandoned and his trust was left cinched.
Surely I shouldn’t endure being pinched.
Fish act like love is only advantageous.
Let’s not forget that sickness is contagious.
I guess you can say I’m somewhat seasick.
Lobster loving isn’t always a picnic.
My lobster feels like he can’t function as a shellfish.
I just want him to be happy, and I’m being selfish.