Pauper Poem by Dan Brown

Welcome to life, pauper.
You could kill yourself now to make it shorter
because this, I’m afraid, is it -
the fullest extent is THIS shit.
You’ll find yourself just sat in the gutter
watching the world go down the shitter
growing madder and sadder and more and more bitter
’til you snap; til you can take no more of people’s crap.
You’ll work
and work
and work
and work
but only end up back in the dirt as they take your dignity
and then your shirt, unless you fight and take theirs first.
Rely on nobody, boy, for there are no friends,
just an endless journey of hairpin bends
and lies - and spies for all the fighting; the sniping and petty back-biting.
Be prepared is all I say.
Don’t be scared of the day
for it’s at night the demons, burglars and rapists come -
though you would be wise to succumb to some
‘cause you scratching their back means them scratching yours
and opening for you some of those doors -
the ones that are locked;
perpetually blocked
and ones you open that leave you shocked
by the men behind them, their rifles cocked.
There is nothing now, only slaughter -
welcome: this is your life, pauper.