Opened

My skin cries out to me and once more I desire to part it like I used to. I need to see if I'm really alive, if silvery moonlight bursts through the crack in my flesh. Will I ooze out life? Opaque and shimmering, drip dropping in little beads to the floor. When I cut myself open will stars and galaxies pour forth, free from their prison? Pulsing with my heart, will they bathe me in the relief I crave? Do they live inside me? Or were they swallowed up by the black hole I sometimes feel? Am I alive?