The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak,
the sweatpants have holes and the T-shirt is frayed.
It'll be over in a couple of weeks.

The hours spent escaping to Twitter speak
to the test on the floor with a failing grade.
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak.

The tissue rips across my salty cheek
while my transcript laughs at the mess that I've made.
It'll be over in a couple of weeks.

I'll go to class tired and return home weak;
won't even bother with the "good girl" charade.
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak.

"It's fine, Dad. My predicament's not unique.
I'll get my diploma, and all this will fade.
It'll be over in a couple of weeks."

Yet perhaps this last piece of paper I seek
will only frame the path from which I've strayed.
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak;
It'll be over in a couple of weeks.