I know a girl who liked to draw
She drew pictures that nobody saw
She was most artistic late at night
Inside the bathroom; out of sight

She kept a secret nobody knew
She didn't tell a soul and her gallery grew
Her drawings were different; no paper or pen
But needed a bandage now and again

She stood in front of a mirror in the dark
Seeing every single line, every mark
Pitiful, she was crying tears of misery
Wait, isn't the girl in the mirror... me?