Shrapnel is raw-life, misery at its finest. A battle on its sorrowed home front—memories with trajectory hollow casings that previously destroyed the subjects memoir account of self-destruction. Austin’s raw poetry is a treat in small proportions that explodes into vast emotions, bullets burrowing deep into the bones.
The peristalsis of acute emotion, bleeding through screens of dark dreams. The will to move on is sluggish yet vital and words puncture like bullets of gravel through the belly of time while christening the true value of intense poetic transmission.
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