I Bleed in Ink

Believe this is my best work in years but I'm dying to hear opinions of other writers.

The sky is bruised in shades of dusk, 
a swirling storm of violet flame. 
The ground below, a shattered husk, 
reflects the ghosts I cannot name. 

Each step I take disturbs the glass, 
old selves arise then fade from view. 
They flicker, fracture, then they pass— 
the rage, the love, the versions true.

A tree of ink and twisted bark 
stands rooted in this dreamlike land. 
Its leaves are pages torn and dark, 
each glowing with a trembling hand. 

I climb the branch that knows my weight, 
the one that held me through the fall. 
It bends beneath my heavy state 
but never breaks, it bears it all. 

I bleed in ink beneath this sky, 
where pain and love refuse to die. 
The fire calls, but I remain— 
still chained to hope, still bound by flame. 

I bleed in ink beneath this sky, 
my soul too stubborn to comply. 
The end is near, but not today— 
my son’s light keeps the dark at bay. 

Beyond the plain, a fire glows, 
a rift that hums with silent peace. 
It calls to me, the end it shows— 
a place where all the noise might cease. 

But silhouettes between us stand, 
soft shapes that hold me to the light. 
One small and bright, a guiding hand, 
my son, my tether in the night. 

Above, the astral sky begins, 
a second realm that overlays. 
A soul I seek floats on the winds, 
just out of reach, beyond the haze. 

The stars align to show me most— 
the memory of your fading face. 
The universe, a playful ghost, 
twirls strands of hair with cosmic grace. 

I bleed in ink beneath this sky, 
where pain and love refuse to die. 
The fire calls, but I remain— 
still chained to hope, still bound by flame. 

I bleed in ink beneath this sky, 
my soul too stubborn to comply. 
The end is near, but not today— 
my son’s light keeps the dark at bay. 

So here I sit, between the two, 
the dusk, the fire, the fractured blue. 
The world may break, but I hold true— 
this isn’t yet my final view.