One Step Too Far

"You won't do it. You won't take that extra step, the step that lies between your life today and no life at all. You're too much of a anxious prospect, you can't bare that heated moment. You won't do it."
They tell you this more or less to convince themselves that you won't do it, they are more gullible then you are, they can believe words once they are spoken crisply into the air, clean cut and easy to read. Why convince themselves? They aren't the ones on suicidal watch. They don't know anything. They aren't anything to you. You are nothing to yourself. You keep feeding your thoughts more and more to grasp, like a raging fire eating up freshly chopped wood in a shower of red flames. You kept giving into this fire, letting your imagination become loose. Loose as in weak, weak meaning you have no control.

You have no control. No control of your words, your actions, yourself. You had lost control of the person who you were, the person you are deep inside of that scarred body. Beneath the surface of your lungs pushing their limits to succeed in finding air, beneath your veins sourly pumping your blood which soon bleeds out of various cuts, deep beneath your skin-your mask of flesh tightly wrapped around a battered skeleton; is the person who you still and always will be. You've lost control of this person, the person who you used to apply no effort in being. You didn't know who you were, you couldn't have known until you lost yourself. You were gone, too far away for the world to catch a glimpse of you; you couldn't even be defined as you had lost control of your own words. You have no control of anything, so why would they tell you that you wouldn't do it? What was it? When would you do it? How would you do it? Where?

You've lost control again. You went into a new direction, spiralling farther down a dark path in which you've never crossed. It's dark, deadly dark. The shadows whisper out their sins, tearing your innocence out into long bloody shreds. You aren't familiar with this path, your footsteps are leaving fresh marks in the surface below you, you stop suddenly, facing nothing but the thoughts in your mind. You couldn't picture this clearly, the illusions didn't piece together as a whole.

"You won't do it."
What else did you have? You took that last step, which was one step too far. The steady surface collapsed from beneath you, sending you soaring downwards into a pit of dread. Darkness swarmed around your limp body, sucked completely dry of life. You lost control, you did do it, there wasn't a significant source of you left in that frame of yours. Nothing. That's what you were to yourself, nothing. Nothing was what you were, and nothing was where you went. You became nothing, nothing was your new extreme. You sat there, soaking up your own hatred and craving the fresh blood of the next failure to walk that one step too far into the world of nothing.