Painted Eggshells

Elaborately decorated hard covers, holding deliberately inked hallucinations, confusing the sane paper.
Well-dressed willfully ignorant creeps, singing poetic nonsense to melodic ears.
Portraits adorn every wall. Stoic expressions, catching my gaze with an optical embrace, grooming their way to non-consenting sex.
Pristine palaces, a spacious parliament building, wise old faces, professional news channels, attractive level-headed anchors, law enforcers everywhere, EVERYWHERE, and fatherly speeches addressing my concerns. I chant in awe of this magnificent nation, with no sparkle left in my eyes.
My rich culture intimidates, generational wealth in fashioning our prime and only output, beautiful nothings, painted eggshells, with no yellows, not even the mostly harmful whites.
We'll take our journey rough, thank you, past vast distances, past boring sands, to encircle and make out with a prominent cube. Geometrically pleasing, dark, in gold weaved panties of graceful font, seductively spelling out exotic rhyming ancient words. Yet, even post nut clarity, none of us has any sense or balls left to notice, that there's nothing inside this fucking cube! There never had to be, yet we’d still cum circle, every year.