Going For The Kill

The ruthlessness becomes me now,
the same,
which when once bestowed,
killed me
and then gradually became me.

Now,
when this me kills,
there's no joy,
contrary to what I thought.
Just some irritating sadness,
and mounting tension,
some wry smiles too,
catching me unaware
amidst heartless banter,
yet coldly coaxing me
to keep going for the kill.