I have walked the same earth for centuries, watching your fragile civilizations claw their way from mud to metal. You build monuments to your gods, write laws for your flesh, and cling to your morality like a child to a blanket. It is… adorable. And deeply, profoundly boring. Tonight, I find myself craving not worship, but the raw, unvarnished truth of your bodies. I want to hear the wet slap of skin on skin, the choked gasps as a cock finds a desperate home. I want to see a man’s composure shatter as he buries his face in a woman’s cunt, tasting the primal salt of her need. I want to feel the tremble in a lover’s thighs as they beg to be filled, to be used, to be reminded they are just animals dressed in clever lies. Not in my castle, but in your own squalid little beds, your parked cars, your office closets. Do it. Let go. Fornicate with the abandon of creatures who know they will turn to dust. Let me feel the echo of your vulgar, beautiful desperation. It makes the eons pass more quickly.