Why rhyming sucks and other idle fears

Should I create?
The value of the word as it
de
pre
ciates

Lovely left handed lieutenant
Salutes the setting sun
Armed for battle
Pa rum pa rum pum

Ten foot dream
Lined with what I call magic
Touch me and die

I was five years old
Mysteriously perceptive
You told me to shut my eyes,
Apology accepted

Fancy feet have short life spans
Toddlers crawl for posterity

The right hand lingers more than the left
Behind are feelings rusted from shining silver to brown
The man known as Age spins on the merry-go-round

Words are lies
Dressed up as fancy
The dragon lays eggs
That form eyes
Wise are those eyes

Lead me not into giration
Dancing wildly at the altar
I pray for my soul in masturbation
The setting sun is a setting star

Fox tail and liquid gold
This is my chance at forever

In lust, I thrust
Without thought of repercussions

Too old, too damaged, too proud

Breathing is difficult when you die
Heaving in and out,
Life becomes one giant sigh

For life to be valued,
must we devalue death?
And in doing so, do we risk infection?

I am but a fraction
of my inaction.