I can’t remember

I can’t remember where I left my keys. I swear I just walked through a wall.

I can’t remember my own phone number. I’m gonna die in a hole.

I can’t remember if I fed the dog. I might have thrown him a pizza.

I can’t remember what I was doing yesterday. I might have been a ghost.

I can’t remember why I woke up. I think I was dreaming about tacos.

I can’t remember if I paid rent. I might’ve paid my dog.

I can’t remember what I had for breakfast. I might’ve eaten my dog’s dinner.

I can’t remember if I did my homework. I might’ve done it in my sleep.

I can’t remember if I’m alive. I might be a zombie.

I can’t remember my password. I think it’s my ex’s phone number.

I can’t remember if I took my meds. I might’ve taken my dog’s meds instead.

I can’t remember if I’m a human or a broken toaster.

I can’t remember if I have a job. I might’ve quit in my sleep.

I can’t remember my favorite color. I think it’s the color of regret.

I can’t remember if I’m rich or broke. I might be both.

I can’t remember if I’m alive. I might be a ghost who forgot to haunt.

I can’t remember if I did my taxes. I might’ve paid my dog’s taxes.

I can’t remember if I like myself. I might hate my own face.