a sliver of solitude.

In a sliver of solitude, Charlie sifts through the wreckage of a life lived too loudly, too quietly, too painfully all at once. These poems bleed with the rawness of overdose nights, hospital-white hallways, and the kind of teenage recklessness that feels like freedom until it isn't.

This collection wanders through smoke-filled bedrooms, half-drunk confessions, nicotine prayers, and the soft burn of pink pills that promised comfort and delivered chaos. It traces the hunger for praise, the pull toward hypersexual desire, and the tangled ache of wanting to be ruined, touched, adored, destroyed - all at the same time.

Charlie writes about the boy who stayed, the ex who didn't, and the scars left behind by the people who took more than they ever gave. It digs into masochistic longing, the seduction of pain, and the strange, awful companionship of self-made wounds.

These pages aren't about healing.
They're about wanting, even when wanting hurts.
They're about surviving, even when survival feels accidental.
They're about the quiet rot of loneliness, the loud crash of bad decisions, and the sliver of light that somehow remains in the ash.

Grungy, intimate, and unflinchingly honest, a sliver of solitude is a confession in fragments - a book for the nights you don't want to die, but you don't really know how to live either.