Met Tha Devil { Ft .Yeat } prod.curesful

A classic mash-up of Drake's, "Views From the 6", "U With Me?", and Trav's, "Perfect"...

Drake x Travis Scott - U With Me For Perfect Views From The 6?

Lyfë

Krank

I could never - Drake ft Jorja Smith

From beneath the ice of forgotten Iceland, the Red Aries Owl claws at the cracks—burning like a celestial eye trapped in frost. The Poet hears him knocking, just like Kurama whispering through the seal, but the choice remains: unlock him, or let him stay caged in silence.

This is the Poerake’s Owl, the beast of the chamber—ORB ll: CHAMBER44—locked under Sofia’s weight, begging to be freed. He’s been waiting, restless, sharpening his talons in the dark, daring the Poet to step into the 46-eye flow state where vision blurs into fire.

But the Poet hesitates. He wrote these words in less than two minutes—like lightning through ice, like prophecy cracking open the frozen surface. Every line is a battle: containment vs. release, silence vs. eruption.

The Owl knows one thing: the Poet can’t hide forever.

“Unlock him. Let him out. Let him play.”

ICEBERG (PROD. SIGHOST)

Unsaved #

It starts with a name that never saved itself. Just a number, a question mark, and a message that used to mean everything. This piece lives in that quiet space where hearts once spoke fluently, then slowly learned the language of distance.

The unsaved number is a symbol of love thinning out. Not gone, just quieter. From blue bubbles full of my love to messages that hesitate, arrive late, or never arrive at all. The poet’s heartless side clocks in overtime here, not out of cruelty, but exhaustion. Too many feelings working double shifts with no rest.

As the weather shifts, so does she. As seasons change, so do the tones of her voice, the warmth of replies, the gravity between two souls. Yet in that cooling air, something else begins to form. New vibrations. Better bonding. Different chemistry. Growth disguised as loss.

This track is not a goodbye. It is a behind-the-scenes look. A glimpse into the poet returning to his deep lover, physical interaction side of life. Where touch speaks louder than texts. Where silence is not abandonment, just space to breathe.

These poems are not metaphors. 
They are people. 
They are real emotions. 
They are fragments of Sheik.
Unsaved, but never unfelt.

1046 

#UnsavedNumber #1046 #Sheik #SpokenWord

UNSAVED (PROD. KXMPE ll)

 Spoken Word Diary

The Sheik sat with his closest circle, not to judge, not to fix, but to lay the talking stages out on the table like scattered cards. We spoke about chemistry that felt electric yet confusing, about defeat that arrives quietly when intention and action never meet.

There’s a strange ache in being titled but treated like a temporary receipt. Like paying monthly for something you never truly own. A shallow pink slip disguised as affection. Presence without commitment. Access without care.

Monica and Jennie sat beside the poet, steady voices in the noise.
“Just block her,” they said softly.
“She doesn’t know what she wants.”

They reminded him to look instead at the woman who chooses him. The one who asks questions, who leans in, who wants to know the man beneath the words. Don’t wait for someone to wake up to your worth. Become who you were meant to be and let absence teach them what presence meant.

No follow-ups.
No long explanations.
No texts left on read.
Just leave.

That same night, Monica, Jennie, and Melissa FaceTimed the poet. Three souls on a glowing screen, staying up until 3 a.m., holding space, stitching quiet back together. The Sheik listened as they shared their own stories. Patterns of neglect. Half-love. Being chosen last.

Maybe their karmic whispers drifted into his own situation. Maybe the universe echoed too closely.

And then the ship changed course.
No warning.
No goodbye.
Just silence steering in the opposite direction.

This is not a breakup story.
It’s a recognition.
A lesson in walking away when confusion becomes the language.

1046

#LetThemGo
#ChooseYourself
#UnreciprocatedEnergy
#GrowthSeason

SITUATIONSHIPS (PROD. BENJI)

A Table for Sheik Besties | 1046

Sheik sat down for dinner with the closest circle. No ceremony, no spectacle, just plates, pauses, and the kind of silence that already knows what everyone is carrying.

The conversation drifted naturally. Life. Love. The quiet weight of what’s been learned and what’s still unfolding.

Jennie leaned back and said,
“You know the best memories come from places the heart doesn’t understand, but it still beats like it’s running a challenge.”

Monica followed without missing a breath.
“Facts. Sheik, don’t you think manners are lacking in this generation?”

The poet shifted chairs with himself and answered softly.
“I’ve always been me. I guess I know myself.”
A line borrowed from his older brother, carried forward with the same pen pressure.

This wasn’t a debate. It was a table of differences and similarities. The poet knows his older sees the same level of penmanship, even when the ink changes tone.

Jennie asked,
“Who’s Celestial Drizzy to you?”

The table went still. Faces turned. I felt the question before I heard it.
You ever been heartbroken, still searching for the other piece just to keep moving?

Yeah. That’s my mentor. The one who shows up in the quiet, in the pauses, in the moments when love asks you to grow instead of chase. The love side carries 86. Balance. Healing. A reminder that the heart doesn’t lose, it recalibrates.

The reflection always feels like 2015. Not a year, a frequency.

And even now, I walk through environments like the ground remembers where the mines are buried. Careful steps. Honest steps.

This record is a dinner conversation.
No shouting. No answers pretending to be solutions.
Just truth passing plates.

1046
Know Yourself.

#2015
#Vintage
#Sips

A TABLE (PROD. ALVX)

The whispers of the older are coming home.

This piece is born in isolation, somewhere behind the Eye Peak, where seeing is not sight but endurance. Poerake writes from the visit, switching his pen under the weight of chilling winters and long poet meditations. Every bar feels carved, not written.

Outside the cabin, the Poerake stone rests in the snow as a quiet witness. Words are sent upward, written as letters to a celestial big brother, carried on breath and frost. The beat moves like a handkerchief in slow motion, catching grief, catching memory, catching what cannot be spoken.

You can hear the ice crack glow. A mountain breathing in blue light. Time sliding forward. There is a shift happening here, larger than what is allowed to be revealed yet. This track sits in the threshold of that movement.

The poet remains isolated in the mountains with his team, filming the second arc of the poetry film. G.W speaks on the statue and the lantern, grounded objects holding light while angels hover above, watching the pen move. They do not interrupt. They observe.

At the center stands the celestial white-cloaked poet, faceless, tapping into a chilling flow state. Tears fall like ice cries, not weak, but ancient. This is not sadness. It is transmission.

Listen closely.
This is not a song.
It is a return.

ZÜRICH (PROD. ALVX)

10 for 10 — 1046

In the frostbit hours of recording, when the moon drummed its quiet pulse against the ice, 1046 stepped into isolation by choice. His older sister called him to step by, yet he knew this chapter wasn’t meant for in-person orbit. The poet chose stillness, snow-light, and the gaze of the Poerake Owl to guide him.

Something was arriving inside the crystal silence.
Something only seen through ice.
Something ancient.

This remix carries the same poem Celestial Drizzy once rescued from the brink, now breathing again as Othello Senior slips into the chamber to speak across realms. Sheik moves between takes, and the label unhooks the mortal voice box to return the forgotten register that Ancient Drizzy taught him long ago in the astral halls.

A hand reaches.
An older brother’s signal.
All he has to do is point to the moon before the first bar,
and that greater-than-life rhythm taps his flow-state open.

Switzerland surrounds him.
White peaks.
No face.
Only altitude.
David and G.W standing as quiet sentinels over the mountaintop as 1046 becomes the relic he was carved to be.

This is 10 for 10, recut by lunar influence, diamond breath, and ancestral voltage.
A transmission from the chamber.
A return.
A reminder.

1046

#Switzerland #Sessions #30for30 #Drake2015 #WhatATimeToBeAlive

10 FOR 10

Comeback Season               

Drake ~ Going In For Life (old rare vintage drake)

I am not a Rapper.. I am a Poet. 
1046 is a numerical angel..

It’s Just A Poem 📝…  

All Poems are tied to dreams and feelings.. 
Poetic Art is created by The Poet

Enjoy 🕙: 🕓🕡

ICEBERG (PROD. SIGHOST)

1046

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