The nurse just took away my marker, saying I can't draw on the walls. But my hand... my hand is gone, where is it? I think I remember a cold saw, and... something sweet, like little pig's trotters. Where should they be now? Maybe somewhere, with my piano keys, sewn onto the wrong flesh. I wanted to play something with my left hand tonight, but my right hand always comes back in my dreams, holding an invisible knife, cutting open my own throat, and then gently... shooting inside. It's so itchy.