Are you real? It's been bothering me God, if you're staring down at me writing this letter and shaking your head. It's been bothering me God, if you're trying to decide what to do with me. I've written so many poems, so many angst and tragic poems, about you and if you're real. I've said it over and over again, I don't believe and I never will. I've said it again and again and again.
But you can't really blame me, can you? I mean, I've been forced to believe in you my whole life. Forced to go to synagogue, forced to pray, forced to believe. And I'm sick of it God, sick and tired of it. I'm drained, God, drained – drained of life, drained of faith, drained of heart, and drained of belief.
Why can't you just show me that you're there, if you are. Show me a sign, something to show me the way. Hey, show my proof, I'll believe. Talk to me, I'll believe. Stop the horrible things that are happening in this world, yeah, then I'll believe.
So, you really can't blame me, can you? If you're real, then you know who I am and how I feel. You really can't blame me, can you that I've chosen to forget the faith I was born with and lead a religion-less, god-less, faith-less life.
You really can't blame me because I think you're not real, because I think you're no one.
Wait – why am I writing a letter to no one?