bookmark_border15 April 2021 (feat. The Blanket poem)

Another night of restlessness.

I wrote a poem while lying in bed. I think it’s too sentimental, and therefore too amateur. Is sentimentality amateur? If so then there’s no hope for me. I am far too sentimental.

Yet I have problems with sentimentality. At least overly sentimental writing.

— (read on after the poem for an unintentional book review) —

Continue reading “15 April 2021 (feat. The Blanket poem)”