An Odd Ode on the Third Skin

The third skin glows with an autistic smile.
The skin smiles
While the ego dystopic strife makes the skin blush,
While creativity gives it pimples,
And the bile of Sphinx purifies it.

The skin smiles with its ornamented pointy teeth.
It turns white, brown, and black with the changes of meditations.
The third skin also meditates
While the exhibitionist mediocre rapes you through.

Genders have infatuations on the skin.
They peel off their first skins to put on the third one.
It makes them look so beautiful that even the lizards envy.
The skin allows them to hide
Within the wreckage of sensibility,
Within the chaos of divinity,
And within the delirium of intellectuality.

The third skin with its autistic smile
Celebrates the hallucinations of love,
Just like the green fairy.
It dives into its own glory of Yaba days.
It vaporizes the disillusionment like the smoke of weed.
Yet, crowds cheer to have the third skin and
To be the third skin.

You can see the blue veins of blood under the third skin,
The blood that changes color.
It turns red while being ambitious,
Turns yellow while being traitor,
Turns green while being insane,
And turns black when being celestial.

That’s how the third skin rocks and rolls.
And we dance with it, we mimic it, we intensify its doubts.
We laugh with its autistic smile,
And we become the smile.

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