Some things don't end smoothly. It's not the slow braking of a car, A seamless transition from driving to a standstill. Sometimes you need to slam on. And it never happens silently, There's always a screech or a thud or a gasp, It takes you by surprise and it lurches you forward. You have to hold on for dear life. The unexpected nature of it wreaks havoc on your insides; Butterflies are woken up from your stomach and become nausea. You check to see if all your limbs are intact, or in fragments. Then you do the same for your heart, Searching to see if it went through the windshield Or if it managed to stay held inside by your unyielding ribs, Only ever collapsing under the strain of breaths, Hyperventilating into an airbag. Some things don't end smoothly. It's not the steady sigh of relief, It's the jagged, shaky breaths that never fully extend In or out, and there's no calming halt afterwards, Just a process of continuously hitting the brakes.