The bait

Every morning when I awake
There’s a black bag there
It represents my escape

Inside the bag is a rolled up mat
My mat beckons
And I think about that

The side I sit, upon my bed
There’s thoughts there’s thoughts
About what lies ahead

On my mat I’d love to be
Where thoughts those thoughts
Are not with me

My mat beckons
But I won’t take the bait
Consequently, therefore, I must wait