There’s a lady and her name is Comfort.

She whispers in the early morning,

when my thoughts turn to my ambitions.

She reminds me of the sting related to previous efforts,

moments when I ignored her.

She pitches me her best lines,

pushing me to stay in my mental bed.

The covers are safe,

and there is no heartache in sleep.

She’s not wrong.

Little Ms. Comfy is a seductive beast,

for she uses no lies.

All my attempts to do something,

are inherently risky,

some of them the heart-destroying kind.

But this temptress has a hand up her ass,

because she is a puppet,

a brainchild of fear.

And I, will not be Lot’s wife.