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I am nine years old, and I fear the monsters. They hide in my closet, under my bed, behind my curtains. Their shadowy forms leer at me, laugh at me. I flick on the lights, run to my parents' bedroom.
As children, we trembled before our closets darkness night fell, like a deep black crushed velvet shade being draped over our world,
Why do I get angry and cry so deeply from the inside Without letting it out? Why do I let the hurricane storm behind the bullet proof glass,
A cry in the nightthat fills you with frightpounding your heartas the chase starts. It fills you with longingfor the light of day;taking your breathas you begin to sway.