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