The olive grove smells like a sacrifice,

Foreshadowing the events of tomorrow night.

Like hanging on nails, I feel suspended,

Wondering whether or not my reign has ended.

Am I the hero people say I am, or am I just a soul,

Breaking out in blood as I reach for something whole?

I wear myself down in my attempt to understand,

And wind up thinking ruefully,

“This is more than I can stand…”

Nothing makes sense, none of it seems real,

Because nothing I can say describes the way I feel.