Entitled...
To what? Life?
What a twisted idea,
That life was given to us. 
We are but mere pawns
Of the cosmos. 
A train of fiery evolution,
A revelation of light.
We are nothing but 
Formations from the nothing
Of Oblivions skin. 
Nothing is all that we are
Were
And will be 
Just resurrected from the sliver 
Of Tarturus' shoulder
Hell bound,
Condemned to a place, 
That may or may not
Exist.
Is my belief 
So construed? 
God once held me tight
Till I realized that those arms
Were my imagination. 
Just a figment of a child
Formed by influences of religion
Restrained in a body of death
That was dead in creation
How can God be real
When I am this lost
This far gone...
The easy answer is that he's helping me slowly, 
But the hard answer is the right answer. 
That there is no God. 
The scary concept that we are 
Just freak occurrences of 
The cosmos. 
Reveled in the eyes of the stars
Taught by the hands of the galaxy.
And fixed by the sheer black of space. 
But no...
No "God"
Who listened to my prayers. 
When I asked for help
On something
That is a make or break...
But here we are. 
In this situation.
And God did not care
Or he doesn't exist
And God is supposed to care
So the only logical answer
Is that God is not real. 
The trees look so pretty..
Even without the hand of God
The idea of god has become 
A simple story
A fictional conviction
And here I am stuck in between
Because if god expects me
To not fall in love...
Then I don't want to be associated with my "so called father."
So that's that.