⛧ ☽☾ 𝐂𝐲𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥. ☽☾ ⛧

To be cynical is to be distrustful of human sincerity or integrity. To believe others are led only by self-interest, alternatively; to be cynical is to be only concerned with one's own interests and doing anything in one's power to achieve goals however many accepted standards may need to be disregard to achieve them. Also, and most importantly, it is the doubt as to whether or not something will happen and/or is worthwhile. In the past few days, I've experienced many cynical thoughts. I've wondered whether or not my pursuits for music will be fruitless as I will never achieve the sound and technique that I want no matter how much time and effort I put in putting that pen to the paper, will it ever be enough? Will I ever be heard?

If I was to scream would you hear me or would my cries for help be drowned out by the 808s or distortion? Will my voice simply be lost underneath the guitar and the bass and will I lose face if I continue to pursue a life that many crave but never realise how damaging it is until it's too late? I wonder if many things in my supposed future will ever be worthwhile. I wonder if the people I love will ever have to see me for my true self. People hide their intentions, people hide their true face. We all have three faces, the one in which we use as a mask in public spaces. The one we reveal to our close friends and family, and the one we face when we look into the mirror. The latter being the one that holds our deepest vices, our secrets, our lies, our pain, our sorrow. Our desires. What is it you desire most?

To be cynical, in itself, is to question the honesty of everyone and everything around you. To question whether or not the life you're currently living will lead to the love you desire most, or crumble before your very eyes. To question your worth. To question your own sincerity. We all lie. Lie to the ones we love, to ourselves. I've lied many times. More times than I could ever begin to list, this is not at all a confession of triumph nor a prideful one. I am not proud of the lies I've spilled, the one's I've lost due to my inability to confess the truth.

What is the truth? What is my truth? Even if I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my true self would I even be able to admit to myself the facts? Would I be able to believe them? How would I know that I'm even being sincere to myself? What if my ability to lie is something that is so deep-rooted into my being that I cannot simply shake. The ease of putting on a smile and hiding the pain inside, the complacency of being so content in the darkness. How could I come to terms with the fact that I'll never know how I truly feel, what I truly am.

What's my worth?

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧