So I've spent the last hour poking holes in my bedroom wall with scissors. I don't know why, so don't ask me. I just have. My mother wont be too pleased about it, and it was rather hard to do. I had to poke the sharp points into the wall, and then mercilessly dig. It was hard work, and I've covered about half of one wall with little dots, barely visible from a distance. A foot is an estimate of the measure between each of them.

This random, and somehow insane stuff has been going on for about a month now. You left about a month ago. My heart...well…you can pretty much guess when it shattered, right?

So now I sit in front of my white and completely blank wall (save for the holes, of course) doing nothing but staring. And I can tell without a mirror that my face is completely blank. How I can tell this is so, I don't know. But somehow I've let my mind flow, and it is incomprehensible where it will go. Now I'm rhyming. Purposely, though, not by accident.

Let's see if I can name some of the completely crazy things I've done in the past month. I distinctly remember being yelled at by my mother when I took all of my clothes I had worn since I had won my fabulous prize of fame, and dumped them out the window. I watched silently as most of them drifted into the pool, and some others landed just on the patio surrounding it.

About two weeks ago I took old Play-Doh from under the bed (it was kind of dried out, and the colors were mixed) and plastered it along my arm, then I waited until it dried so it was like a cast. I cut it off two days later. It's not violent things that I'm doing, just completely childish and strange. But, you left, and I believe that's the reason I'm doing it.

I get up from my position in front of the wall and look at the other one that I had been facing my back to. I climb up on my bed, which is pushed against it, and begin to rip my posters off of the wall. I fold them carefully and place them neatly in a drawer in my desk, which I then proceed to move across the room to the door. I pull it outside of the room and drag it into the guest bedroom that is reserved for family when they come to visit. I'm home alone for the time being, so there is no one there to take notice of my actions. I walk silently back to my room, and look at the dents that are temporarily stuck in the carpet where the desk's legs used to be. Leg's. That's a funny thing to call part of a desk.

My next task is harder than the last, and it requires some thought. I pull my comforter off of my bed, fold it up nicely, and open up my window. I do the same thing that I did to my clothes a while ago, and watch it open itself up and float clumsily to the pool, where it hovers on the water for a moment, and then sinks down. I flip the mattress off of the bed frame, and keep it sideways as I haul it through my door. I have no clue what I'm doing, but it just feels right at the moment, and what I do has always been spontaneous since you left.

When the mattress and frame of the bed is moved into the guest room, sidled up against a wall, because it wouldn't fit anywhere else, I crouch down and go through the drawer of my nightstand. It's one of the only things left in the room. I didn't have much in the bedroom, and I refused to go shopping after I got rid of my clothes. So I've just been using my mom's and Sadie's old ones. I dig through it for a moment, and find what I had been looking for. My notebook of songs. I pull it out, and set it down carefully on my carpet.

I'm about to close the drawer when I notice a folded piece of paper with your name on it. I recognize it as a note I must have forgotten to give you. I set it directly beside my notebook without reading it, and move my nightstand out of the room and across the hall.

I come back in my room, lay my guitar next to the other two items I have laying on the ground, and look around. I'm satisfied with my work. My room is now pretty much completely empty, and I have the only three things that are of importance to me lying in front of me. I sit down and cross my legs as I open the note. My handwriting is scrawled across it messily, I must have written it a while ago, when we were still together, probably, and hastily.

It reads simply:

"Tommy-

I would go insane without you.

-Jude"

In the distance I hear the front door open, and many footsteps walk in. I glance up when a man in a suit comes up to my room. "Jude Harrison, we're here to help you." He says to me. But I don't believe him.