Boxes teeter on the roof, splattered and taped, Their weight dragging the car closer to the earth. Inside, two skeletal grins gleam in the dark— Passengers long past caring where the road ends. The headlights split the chaos ahead, Sirens wail somewhere behind, But the dead don’t look back. Hands frozen on the wheel, They push forward through the wreckage, As if they’re delivering something no one asked for. The air tastes of gasoline and last rites, The cargo hums with secrets— A ticking laugh in the face of time. And still, they drive, The night swallowing their ghostly parade.