Gutted

I am Sam’s sense of defeat.
I have grown strong
Over the past month,
Feeding off Sam’s losses from the wheel.
Sam won’t stop until there is nothing left,
Until he walks home at 6 o’clock,
Pockets turned out,
Step by step
Slow and overcome
His journey made all the more difficult
By me, resting on his shoulders.
I am Sam’s sense of defeat.

Sam Small