My Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100002932852672&sk=wall

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╚╗╔╝║║ღ═╦╦╦═ღ
╔╝╚╗ღ╚╣║║║║╠╣ JOHN QUINN.

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Me Now.

*My doggy*

Name: Jezebel

Nickname: people call me Jezebel when there angry or they are mocking me. but call me Jez

Age: 16 

Where I live: Chester field

Where I'm from: Spain,

Friends on here: Natalie and Reese

Family on here: Reese, Step Brother

Extra: I was born up a Wicca, If you don't know what that is. It means Witchcraft & Magick. I was born like that.

POEMS THAT SAY MY LIFE SINCE I WAS 14 YEARS OLD:

She walks down the corridor,
with a frown on her face
she hopes that one day she’ll find a better place.
She walks past the people acting it out,
The things she does
She ashamed about.

She hides for the day,
Knowing the facts,
By this time tomorrow,
It won’t be an act.

She walks down the corridor,
Covering the scars
what she did that night,
her eyes fill with tears,
her faces hides her mask,
the people watch her,
acting it out.

They call the emo
They call her names,
All because she’s different
she doesn’t feel the same.

She walks down the corridor,
The very last time
Her tears are falling,
she doesn’t know why

She runs through the corridor,
opens the door,
Running home slowly,
So she can be ignored.
She runs into the house
Grabs a knife
Runs to her bedroom
No more life tonight.

Raindrops fall from the sky
As blood drips from my eye
The ground rips and resists
As I cut open my wrists

Sunlight fails to shine
Darkness becomes my shrine
Fire shoots up in the air
As my soul I declare

This demon from hell to take
The anger I can’t fake
Cold fingers of darkness reach for my hand
As lightening wreaks havoc on the land

Evil courses through my veins
My heart pounding as it strains
Now that I’ve told you what I’ve become
It’s more true to you than some
But if you try to save me from this fate

I’ll paint you a picture
I’ll paint it with a twist
I’ll paint it with a razor
I’ll paint it on my wrist

Now my arms are blooded
So blooded and torn
Those are broken feelings
Drippin on the floor

Then one day I’ll have had enough
But then theres on more twist
On that day I’ll love to say
The picture won’t be on my wrist

But on my throat
Perhaps of a boat
So I can sail away
It’ll be bright red and dripping wet
Oh that’ll be the day

All these things I’ve told you
Are my lifes little fixtures
But here upon my blooded wrist
I’ve painted you a picture.