Semblance of Separation

The trials of long-distance.

Oh, how I severely dislike you.
Your Times New Roman,
Your infallible latitude and longitude.
Your bland color scheme
Of washed out purples, reds, browns, greens, and blues.

You tell me nothing of the miles of dead road
Between me and what I so desperately want,
You tell me nothing but how far away I am.

You taunt me with your scales,
One inch is equivalent one thousand miles.
But really, one inch is too far to measure.

You tease me with the concept of road trips,
When all I can hope for are phone calls.
You smell of old paper, and a boring gloss,
Not that indefinable scent of a T-shirt.

Oh, how I wish your mocking corners would rip,
And your domineering presence would be gone,
How I wish you would fall to pieces,
There I could watch you decay,
You despicable Map,
And then all semblance of separation would be gone.