Drunken Debris

[Scattered, no moment to soon but,
they seem to be forgotten after the end.]

The bricks layered before the blue prints were started.
Locks bought at truck stops,
doors made from cardboard found in the salvage.
My new apartment looks to be recycled.

Just moved in; first questions:
How did the past tenants break so many tiles and
leave behind there multitude of precious pubes.
And what is that on the wall?

Insects started me, the deck didn't pass safety code
but I sat on it for a month.
Everything that comes with living on your own,
those green dreams, were crushed with drunken debris.

But maybe I can improve my luck.
Get my parents to call the landlord and complain.
Throw away my belongings that were maliciously infected
by bed bugs.  And each time I killed one they would leave
behind my blood/red stains like polka dots.

Give it all back for good will and a physics smile so
I can spread the bad evenly, passing the fragments onto
defenseless strangers.

Soon the whole city, Chicago, was known for it's epidemic of
blood transmitted diseases because each artifact was stained with red.
Everything sold under clearance, even the people, marked with
red dots of impurity.