The painted gun that silently screamed "Surrender!"

This is my surrender--
Trigger latched back, I prayed for a bang.
Trigger latched back, I prayed for a bang,
but when released, a gunpowder-fertilized boquet grew in swirls of paint.
The power and weight in my right hand--
Everything is morphed into a ticking clock.
Your words, so blindingly yellow... the strokes of a paintbrush, the shots of a gun.
Am I the trigger to your gun?
Are you the trigger to my gun?
This is my surrender.
You are a whisper, made of acrylic;
Paint me your mood for today.
I am the cry of a bullet, made of steel--
My words, so firy black...the only one I ever meant was "Goodbye."
The delicious drops of honey have rinsed from your eyes.
On edge, you stand upright--
your love has become a see-saw.
It's ending, it's ending, it's over--
The delicate lace tightly bound around the thorns of the blackberry bush.
You blink red, you scream yellow...the strokes of a paintbrush, the shots of a gun.
This is my surrender.