8:30 AM on the way to school
Dad questions my existence.
How can you be sure you’re real?
And this life isn’t planned or constructed?
Who’s really in control?
Haven’t you heard – when people start looking familiar, it’s because God has run out of extras...

The scorched hills roll by in waves under the clear California sky.
Maybe none of it is real. How would you know?
Maybe you’re the subject of a tv show –
And I’m not really your dad.
And I’m just scripted to have this conversation.

If so

Then
Let them see
My fits of crazy
The ugly faces I make in the mirror
My secret tears
And ***** blood
And demented body
And twisted face
And let them know
That I am human.
After all.