Here’s to sleepless nights and bloodshot eyes,
otherwise known as the best four years of our lives.
Days are numbered, yet blurred together,
the faculty holding us back, we have become tethered,
to our GPAs, college letters, and the lead role in the play,
causing us to wallow in our own pits of personal dismay.
The weekly panic attack, accompanied by tears and crying,
We wonder, is this what it feels like to slowly be dying?
Numbers mean more than just math class now,
these characters will determine our entire futures somehow.
We don’t know where to start, because where will it end?
We are being bent and broken, unable to mend.
Relationships are failing and the party was a disaster,
The problems we are facing are impossible to master.
Monday through Friday, from seven until three
We are demanded to obey the authority of thee.
School, sports, and extracurriculars are tough,
Obviously, these four long years will be rough.
But hopefully, in the end it will all be worth it,
And the time we spent in this place will not go unnoticed.
We have two years left, guaranteed to be bittersweet,
but for now we should just focus on staying on our feet.