Shit Me, Remember This Thing!

The beetle brain knows it was once human. The six limbs, scrabbling as they do against the wooden surface, remember when they were but only two. It was, the thing admits, a more complicated time, before the great ascendancy to that forgotten plane. Adjectives meant more, seemed to settle words more firmly in their place. Now it knows no words. It knows nothing but the wood under its six limbs, and that the six were once two.