Dixie Death Diary: The Burial of a Southern Artist E-Book
Dixie Death Diary: A Grit-Soaked, Outlaw Gospel
This ain’t a book. It’s a loaded gun wrapped in sweat-soaked pages. Dixie Death Diary is a raw, unflinching confession from the underbelly of the American South—a place where sins are whispered in backrooms, love is a bar fight, and regret comes served in a dirty glass.
These aren’t just poems. They’re scars. They’re shotgun blasts of brutal truth, whispered prayers from a dirt-road pulpit, and outlaw sermons soaked in whiskey. Here, Southern hospitality is a knife’s edge. Love is a slow, smoking wreck. And the only salvation is the fire you light yourself.
Dixie Death Diary is the gospel of the broken, the damned, and the desperate—stories scratched into cheap motel bibles, lust and loss tangled in cigarette smoke, and survival painted in Southern grime.
Read it if you’ve ever loved someone you shouldn’t. Read it if you’ve ever tried to drink the pain away. Read it if you’re still here, despite the best efforts of this world to bury you.
But don’t read it expecting redemption.
Hell, don’t read it expecting forgiveness.
This is outlaw poetry with a knife in its teeth—honest, angry, and alive.
Dixie Death Diary: A Grit-Soaked, Outlaw Gospel
This ain’t a book. It’s a loaded gun wrapped in sweat-soaked pages. Dixie Death Diary is a raw, unflinching confession from the underbelly of the American South—a place where sins are whispered in backrooms, love is a bar fight, and regret comes served in a dirty glass.
These aren’t just poems. They’re scars. They’re shotgun blasts of brutal truth, whispered prayers from a dirt-road pulpit, and outlaw sermons soaked in whiskey. Here, Southern hospitality is a knife’s edge. Love is a slow, smoking wreck. And the only salvation is the fire you light yourself.
Dixie Death Diary is the gospel of the broken, the damned, and the desperate—stories scratched into cheap motel bibles, lust and loss tangled in cigarette smoke, and survival painted in Southern grime.
Read it if you’ve ever loved someone you shouldn’t. Read it if you’ve ever tried to drink the pain away. Read it if you’re still here, despite the best efforts of this world to bury you.
But don’t read it expecting redemption.
Hell, don’t read it expecting forgiveness.
This is outlaw poetry with a knife in its teeth—honest, angry, and alive.
Dixie Death Diary: A Grit-Soaked, Outlaw Gospel
This ain’t a book. It’s a loaded gun wrapped in sweat-soaked pages. Dixie Death Diary is a raw, unflinching confession from the underbelly of the American South—a place where sins are whispered in backrooms, love is a bar fight, and regret comes served in a dirty glass.
These aren’t just poems. They’re scars. They’re shotgun blasts of brutal truth, whispered prayers from a dirt-road pulpit, and outlaw sermons soaked in whiskey. Here, Southern hospitality is a knife’s edge. Love is a slow, smoking wreck. And the only salvation is the fire you light yourself.
Dixie Death Diary is the gospel of the broken, the damned, and the desperate—stories scratched into cheap motel bibles, lust and loss tangled in cigarette smoke, and survival painted in Southern grime.
Read it if you’ve ever loved someone you shouldn’t. Read it if you’ve ever tried to drink the pain away. Read it if you’re still here, despite the best efforts of this world to bury you.
But don’t read it expecting redemption.
Hell, don’t read it expecting forgiveness.
This is outlaw poetry with a knife in its teeth—honest, angry, and alive.