Solomon Island

It's said I'm an adult with a cult
Vincent Schiavelli look alike
Still adamant about dissecting containers
And flenching hooker hides
I put in double-work like
The Gemini twins
In a Brooklyn lounge
With butchered eyes
Crooked mind
I get praised for these bars like
I took the time
I also heard my sock puppet
Hand chopped up and cooked my wife's
Body and took it's time
I tear bitches backs out
Like a ripped booklet spine
I'm rigid and stubborn as a screw pushed in pine
Cursed with art til I die
Still-life sketch your head severed, with insects
Crawling out of it's pushed in eyes
A doctor like Conrad Murray
I'll kill a mike with cyanide batter on a wine platter
Shoot up gymnasiums and climb rafters
Dispatch me in any cypher
I'm a spine cracker
Virulent but not a vine rapper
Confused, I'ma spook the spies after
Spit pissing over hissing puddles
From acidics dripping out of spine fractures
I'm a megalithic Stonehenge with
Heavy overgrowth and vine ladders
It's ironic
I'm the bomb and look Hamas
Like a hijacker
Hits from the bong, life shatter
Write to bind chapters
Feel like I'm in a shark suit
Around biters and signed actors
Murder then scream, cry
Sigh, laughter
Let the devil's hand use my idle mind
To make the time fly faster

6-6-6-8-6

(Does that mean there are people alive in this village who have eaten people? "Yes." Okay. Is it possible to them? Is it something they would talk about? "They talk, but it is possible." It is possible? "Yeah.")