When the sound of your parents talking about politics over powers your sense of right and wrong
And the sounds of treebranches clashing outside your window drowns out the song on the radio
Every strand of hair on your head makes noise against the next as you drag your fingers through in frustration
And your skin is tired and you can hear the sound each time you blink, each time your eyelids kiss
When your breath hits the glass of your mirror like a fist on skin, it leaves an opaque patch, like a bruise deeply spreading
When your words hang in the air like icicles and you wish they’d turn to steam because they’re stabbing everyone they can reach
And then when your feet stop clicking, padding and stamping, and your heart stops faltering, flying and clapping
And your lips part to let out a stampede of words all tripping over each other
That’s when
And only then
It’s time to switch the light off.