The speaker is sitting in comfort, and it seems to be the problem. The hashtag title, "#firstworldproblems," is a half-joke: it names the kind of complaint people make when life is easy enough that boredom or unease becomes the main trouble. The poem takes that joke and turns it a little darker.
Being "alone with my comfort" sounds peaceful, but the speaker calls the next step a "pungent necessity," a strong, sharp phrase that suggests an urge too sharp to ignore. They want to "look askew," to see things from an off angle, and even to "call up an anger spirit." The last line, "the mother of all trouble," suggests giving in to something big and unruly.
The mood is restless and slightly mischievous. Judging by the wording, the speaker seems to feel that too much ease dulls them, and that stirring up some trouble might feel more alive. The poem is short and tense, and it leaves us unsure whether this is play or something more serious.