I woke up, heart racing
And you were there.
But it was too far away to be you
So I just got more scared.

The trees turned to guns
My ear turned to blood.
They must've shot me;
Maybe I mistook shots for heartbeats.
I do that sometimes.

The bullets must've been the birds.
They can be cruel, you know
And what else could a tree shoot?
Pinecones are made for glitter
Not gunplay.

You weren't you
Because you were too far
But you were so close.

Nature usually negates my nightmares.
Guns are made of metal and fire
Not wood and birds.
You are always you
Even when I'm not exactly me.