she puts it all together

There's nothing I've said
to support what she knows
it's between, in the lines
where she's planted her rows
and I've flatly denied
said a hundred times, no
there's no crop there to grow
but she reaps what she sows.

She interprets rebuke
to mean time isn't right
interprets contempt
to mean playing along
interprets a shout
to mean feeling is strong
but it isn't the time
that's been wrong.

What can I do or say?
when her facts are all made
of what I never did,
never said, no display
no attempt on my part
can gainsay what she's built
of what she says I meant.

She's got cases of guilt
she's made up every fact
to fit snap to her case
and there isn't a crack
to let light on the face
of the sad picture puzzle
she's made of her mind
and my heart - she accuses
- but that wasn't mine.

I suppose she'll wake up
someday years from now, bolt
upright, suddenly: light goes on
"oh my God, oh - I sure treated
that guy like a real psycho bitch!
To invent all these feelings for
him, and then pitch righteous fits
of revenge, when he only said: 'No!'"
I suppose she'll wake up someday
years from now, though

- no.
Actually,
I don't suppose so.