I just want to make clear this is no poem

this month, is the month of my destruction.

no more will I dwell in the star-lit forests.

no more will my eyes water at the sight of fluffy puppies.

no more will I stuff my stomach with tofuburgers.

for this is the month of the seven exams. 

this, is the month of countless competition-deadlines.

this, my friends, is the month of the drawing-performance in the woods.

this month, my beloved folk, you won't be seeing much of my sleepy self in da hoods.

yo.