Really need to organize these better but it happens.

She laughs in broken sobs,
Shivering in pain that she tries to hide,
Laughing away all that is there,
Ending it all with a humor filled cry;

She sits in the shadows,
Humming a song that foretells her end,
Smoke lingering around her,
As she commits her final sin;

Cigarette smoke and a taste of poison,
Is all she knows, or chooses to know,
And the blade pierces her skin,
As she sells her battered soul.

* This is one installment of many in a continuous poem I've worked on since I was 14, called "The Girl." No idea what part this is, but hey, I found it.