if a half-grown tadpole

and a fully-formed ghoul

went gambling, what would they say, what would they do?

I’m half dead already, and I’ve just come out of metamorphosis.

I’m just here for the weed, and my mind is a fog.

I want this.

I haven’t had enough.

Mine is the luxury of desire.

Mine is the joy of tearing apart half-formed limbs.

My mother was a frog once, and my father a ghoul.

Where are they now?