Graveyard

Blowin' Up

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racks v1 juice wrld

juice wrld - For A Second.mp3

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lor piper - ce sont eux p. 14papii, flight7n

In the heart of Little Italy, destiny aligned on the 23rd. After a few simple conversations, Angelina found herself lost in the poet’s eyes — those eyes that speak louder than words. For two months they talked, deeply, endlessly, until her lip-biting and sparkling gaze revealed she wanted to know everything about Sheik.

The poet, fully in tune with his Italian side, spoke heavy in Italian — rolling vowels, ancient cadence, a rhythm of Rome and Genova. As the night stretched long, pineapple mixed with Grappa di Prosecco sweetened the atmosphere, until he found himself on her couch. There, she revealed her true warmth — cooking Italian pasta with fresh salad, letting the glow of The Irishman play in the background. That’s when the poet realized: this wasn’t just any Italian woman — she was born into the Genova family.

The poet loves his Italian woman with his full heart. And when the word "Itialian" slipped once — it wasn’t a mistake, but a poetic twist: a reminder that even flaws in language become art when touched by love.

Just as always, the poet’s rosters remain faceless — reflections of his own faceless existence. That is what makes life exclusive, rare, and divine. He has always lived like this, mysterious yet open, unseen yet felt.

“In quote, I’ve been Drizzy since ’96… so this is basically normal actions of Me. Just a very charming and honest man, nothing more, nothing less.”

I'M A POET

Underwrld

racks v1 juice wrld

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