P9: are you afraid of the dark?

Getting older means that
I don't have to be scared
of what is hiding under
the bed, who lurks
behind my curtains
breathing a raspy pant
and drooling sweet
expectation hoping to curl
curved yellow teeth
around my ankle and drag
me, too scared to be
screaming, into a world
in my closet that
is unimaginably more
horrible than the musty smell
my father's old flannel shirts
leave.

And I'm not. I've been dragged
there already and other
than a few sunburns
and twisted ankles
it wasn't so bad:
Growing up, I mean.
But now that I have grown
it's hard not to be afraid.
Not even just afraid, actually,
it's more of a terror that grips both sides
of my brain and pushes...A horrible reality
that makes sleep seem the dream and the night
an enemy that dies daily but is reborn with the dark.
Oh, the dark isn't exactly what I fear but
it masks my fears, forces me to lay in bed,
covers over my face,
sniffing the air and praying that I'll
only smell musty
flannel.