Terror from the Closet

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Everybody's got one
skulking in their closet dark,
waiting to spring out at you
to cause a terror stark.
Silent as a viper
and more clinging than a vine,
once it's wrapped around you
your fortunes will decline.
Shapeless and so garish
that it hurts the modest eye;
a fiendish combination
that will make the heavens cry.
People who might meet you
walking down a city street
will shake their heads in sorrow
at unraveling defeat.
What's the foul affliction
I refer to in this rhyme?
That sweater from your children
that you got last Christmas time!

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