This beach house is blue
Yet it feels gray.
A sign on the wall points to the ocean
But actually it's pointing to the bay.

The walkway is lined with seashells
That are broken, jagged, and painful.
The front door doesn't even open
The force needed is almost shameful.

The feeling inside the rooms upstairs
Relates to its dark and boxed-in design
The oppressive weight of dead eyes
Watching for one step out of line.

Its uncomfortable and terrifying
Hardly a place for relaxation.
But each gray year we come here
To get more depressed on vacation.