We are all forever trapped in a prison of our own making. Hands tied and ankles heavy, there lie circlets where the kiss of our patient executioner's lips have left the skin stained red. It matters little, the poisoned despairing prisoner; it matters not the perilous journey, the illusioned destination or the immeasurable wear. Each and everyone of us is weighed down or tied to something-- a being, a duty or a cause. These, the cells we can never truly escape.
It comes in many forms, our personal Jailguard. Some wear them in metal: iron, gold, or silver. Some choose to be restrained by more delicate materials like a string of pearls, a measure of satin ribbon. The hand that seals the lock and throws the key may sometimes be ours or unbeknownst to the sufferer but it does little to appease the reality of its damnable existence.
No matter the material, the wearer, the cause.. Chains, like God or smoke or most anything supernatural... Are only as real as the faith you invest in its power.