Fact

It is easy to screw formalities and spit the truth out if I didn't give two fucks but I do.

I give more than two fucks. I give a million. I give a gazillion. I give a fucking universe-sized fuck. So no, the truth stays in a journal at the back of my wardrobe, camouflaged by paper bags, banished to oblivion. It dances at the tip of my tongue every time my mouth ends up gaping like a fish out of water, feeding lies to your eyes what a surprise lice mice slice dice price rice vice thrice spice ice. Screw this.

They can be yummy served with dashes of sarcasm and a giant dollop of nonchalance. After that, we could all be friends and prance merrily about the mulberry bush playing pretend. Yeah, why not. Whatever.

Looks like it's time to filter people from my life again.
Finished with person 4. 2 more to go.
Let's see how they pan out.