Universal's Poem Book

Locked but Bloated

Locked in this room;
what's it I assume?

Gun being loaded;
in my face it's toted.

I'm sick of your strife you've given.
At the chance of my death enlivened.
At your own mercilessness-
I'm sickened.
I hope so far the horror's been fixed.
Hope you die from falling bricks!
My misery- such an ever-growing problem.
Locate the problems and attempt to solve 'em.
Is it because I'm dumb and thus live in a slum?