Moving Out

My shackles are made of blood,
Staining my body with utter despair,
And my voice is gone,
Roaming the earth with a call for help.
Surrender would have been easy,
But my spirit has wings that long for flight.
The sky calls for me,
But I am bound with shackles of blood.
My eyes are dry
For the tears have long since claimed their freedom.
Now I am just a shell
Of dreams of rainbows and a bright blue sky.
A night will come when eyes would be unseeing,
And I will escape and fly where the light is.
I will bathe myself with newfound tears of joy,
And wash all the blood that shackles me.