Battered Fish

It's not about what my depression looks like
 
It doesn't look like a suicide
 
It just feels like the relief of being dead
 
I haven't managed my expectations well
  
I thought this would be easier
  
I thought the seachange would somehow be more like living by a clam lake 
  
But coastlines have waves and salt and sand and stuff
   
And rusty dingies made of paperthin tin and lumps of coral to stub your toe
  
And falling pine branches in gusts of wind that knock the icecream from your cone and blow away your hat, your towel and parasol
  
And are not the seaguls just bullies and theives that steal your fries and shit on your head
  
This hasn't turned out as "the best days of our lives"
  
I just want some shade to lick my sunburnt wounds
  
Relief can't come too soon