stream of consciousness: cognitive bias

i like to tinker with the tools for your thinking,
food for thought i just chew it up,
no room for fools,

i pick and choose the rules,

and high jinks
lower blows leave a stink
like rows of roses, over those past the brink:
those for whom the pulse of doom got no kink
on stage you flat-line at my nines,
see your life flash like light,
i fight crews, i don't blink,
so glazed are my eyes all the time.
dehydrated,
i'm thirstier than drunkards
drooling back in their drink
but still fire,
bullet-grazed yet on point with the rhyme,
unfazed and amazing,

blaze a joint on this line,
put bluntly:
you couldn't find an axe that could stump me,
you dull B,
my cypher's sick, i'll smoke you like bud trees,
i'm hungry,
your tries to diss are stuck in your guts see,
like shit,
my rhymes will kick you right where them nuts be,
you're rusty,
your ammunition's awfully pointless,
pull a pistol:
bullet blitzkrieg that i hollowed the points in,
standard issue,
empty clips do get switched,
i anoint with,
an ointment of hits
that explode like the shits
and damage tissues.
couldn't fathom how i'll atom split you,
mushroom clouds to move the crowds: 

mind-matter fission.

and wise adage missiles,

the aftermath's official:

after laughter comes the tears,

look: here's a tissue.