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Your eyelids are too acidic, they corrode the marrow shanty that I've named shield. When you blink the unaccounted for drops of cancerous fluid that fall upon my kneecaps splatter into an array of color and form that becomes desire.

The desire becomes a need the need become an addiction and your confidence becomes not a story but an epic poem that rains bits of gravel into your own mouth. When you've had enough gravel you start to seize, requiring more flesh to give it flavor.

When you've found the flesh isn't enough, hormones must be found to compensate. Dopamine dance parties are thrown by your unmentionables, causing you to slip into a deep and wondrous waking coma that brings you back to where you started.

Once you've gone around enough times the PAWNS must be exchanged for BISHOPS, but if the KING were to discover your treats it would not be he who punished you but you who would lead him through a long path of suffering through deep running pools of inky oil.

And me? I am just a KNIGHT in your game, I move differently I entertain you with futile moves that spread the fear of GOD into the stomaches of your BISHOPS, for I am just a fish swimming in a sea of filthy sweat. I can only imagine the utter disgust of the BISHOPS when they find that a fish has bested them.

However, your endomorphism-desires will eventually start to crave PAWNS again. Because who wants just one KNIGHT when you can have twelve PAWNS?