The pages are turned to figure out what happens next. 

Another page was turned recently, of a book that was put to the shelf. Dust settled. So did I.

But I picked it up sooner than when I had initially planned to pick it up; which was never.

Minds change. Mine got corrupted. 

You won't get the context because it's not important. Let's just say that I settled for something else.

Yes, settled. It's funny, since I am not that woman. 

The future is now crystal clear. 

I'm semi intoxicated. No, not high yet. I could be. But I won't be, on anything, on anyone. 

I've already settled for something much worse. 

Anyway, I'm craving Lychee juice. Abjured meat a long time ago, don't crave it. Don't know why. 

I guess I settled for a life without it. For ethical reasons, you see.

Don't know if you'll call that a settlement. 

They offered beer. I tell them that they could buy a meal for someone hungry with that money. 

Now they're settled with a feeling of guilt. I'm happy. 

There's no need to be sanguine. You're free, as settling is complete opposite of it. 

I took a quiz. The results were baffling. I'm a histrionic. 

I settled for it. And my mind has been corrupted. 

Blue October

Still undecided. Still flailing, falling, hurting. Confusion. Iffy personality. Agitation. Thousand and one nightmares. Suddenly the water spills and everything you know of yourself to be true, disintegrates. Tears. Blood. Doubts. Everything shrunken. Unsettling. Every bad feeling seeps in, how, it always finds a way. Stupid. Dumb. Careless. Thoughts come and go, without any progress. Knowledge floats. Stammering, struggling to speak. Stupid. Back to being a child. Annoying, irritating, moody, crazy. Back to being an adult. Hate. Love. Disrespect. Judgment. Temporary happiness. Laughter hurts the ears, silence kills everything. Right. Wrong. Does it matter? They want to be right, you want them to be wrong. Fighting, fighting over things that don't matter, flipping out. Now its 3 A.M, you're fighting your trivial battles, making life seem like its less than what it really is, crying over spilled milk. Always. Just stop. Unloved. Unimportant. Unknown. Worthless. Graceless. Detached- now go, leave. Crawl. Walk. Run. Take off that pale blue gown, light a cigarette. So they say, there's fire at one end of the cigarette and fool at the other. You’re a fool, to have fought for nothing, to have lost everything; for nothing. Now you're running. For nothing. But to where? How can I help, when your mind refuses to see beyond the lies you've been told. I know it hurts, for everyone has got their own demon of destruction. But come out. Screaming. Crying. Bleeding. You're almost yourself. This isn't the end. This wasn't your only chance; for there isn't an end to possibilities in a universe so great and vast.