the baleful primal

I sense Him, in the halls beyond.
the timer has already begun, damn.

the room is warm as I awaken,
quiet beeping from machines I'm attached to.
the Being is there, straight-backed and divine,
unchanging mystery clinging to them.
the bottles are gone, stacked on a table
fluorescent lighting humming with a sterile familiarity.
They ask after my rest, hinting urgency while waiting for
me to catch up, to share what I saw while dreaming,
hoping to learn more about... everything.
about my city under quarantine,
like the rest of the world.

He arrived abruptly, without fanfare.
cries of anguish from the people bounced
between buildings as they fell to their knees,
in shops, hotels, in the streets
red tears and clawing at their faces,
all screaming of a horrible voice in their mind.
hospitals filled within days, and each patient
fell into a coma immediately, alive but unable
to awaken.

I joined their number two weeks ago.

dinner had been on the table for half and hour,
I was on a call with an old friend.
it sounded like static, and then more like words.
when I hung up, the voice muttered deep curses,
weaponizing private thoughts and feelings
in a war against the very fibre of my existence.
I was found by my roommate and carried to the bed
that has been my sterile cage, for I am not free -
I am cursed to feverish dreams
for twenty-three hours
and forty-seven minutes.
but I am the only one that is given
thirteen minutes of clarity.
that is how They found me.