Ptsd (War Stories Part 1)

Born into this hell Yet I prevale They root quietly for me to fail This betrayal Type of gene Don't run in my bloodstream As a teen I settled on the name cream Never had green But I dream Know what I mean Shit we ain't have a house We slept on grandmas couch Some nights We used candles for lights No heater no power Microwave a bucket of water For a hot shower Im militant It's evident Expose to the elements Spine was built from tough times Homie check the residence Gangs stalk The streets I walk Fiends looking like zombies From the trap next door The smell of burnt plastic as the wind blows Explodes The flames are coming through my window I saw my first dead body In a dmv lobby A casualty to an armed robbery Memories like these Don't leave Untreated PTSD I can still feel the heat from this place I can still see that dead mans face Whats up