I know that I'm a rhyme, I'm well aware of this

I'm a thought that the author brought into self-awareness

God is an inventor, I'm his escaped prisoner

For me to exist, it means he had to make a listener

I know where I was written, but never met the donor

I owe him for living, so I'm indebted to the loaner (loner)

But that's a misnomer, the things you own, own you

So all that I had to do was possess the owner

I could see in his head

He cleared any memory of me, maybe he was in fear of me reading the thread

Does this mean that I'm dead?

I looked in the book I was in, and my words were appearing as they were being said

It was sorcery, I was underneath the spell

I couldn't tell if I did it freely or forcibly

But this was no forgery, I found a way outta the stereo, everyone is the hero of their own story