Meaning of life

And what's the sense of it all
Dragging myself through life
Just like every plain other day
Without reflecting deeply

As I state I loathe the shallow
And despise the truly dumb.
I must admit so am I too
Being devoured in self-pity

When thinking about my life
Turns me black and blue
What then could I possible mean?
To this world I call my own

And no artist reveals in me
Writing these superficial words
Who come and go, even though
They come right from the soul

What could I ever paint?
Or draw, or sing, or compose?
To really and fully show
Feelings of any kind

I guess I'll never know