ponderings of a fifteen-year-old

From some perspectives, doing almost anything is utterly worthless. What point is there in doing anyhing, when it is never perfect, never even perfect within the mind;s narrow conception of itself. How limitied are we all, and who or what coul hoe to change that. To believe in the possibility of change, of being even a tiny bit btter, is too optimistic by far. Bleakness and darkness, they are what remains in the end. Nothing mttters, nothing at a;;, judt yime passuing and the pathetic ramblings of a boy and his keyboard. There is no clevernes in it, just a surrender ot the darknesss of the world. What good could a single person do, a person so imperfect as a human is. What use is talent when it is unable to be fostered. What use is work, without a motivation to push it on. What even is the point of trying to reach above one's station, to not just accept the life one has been dealt and drown oneself out in the mindless corners of the wworld, lost what is the point what is the point what is hte point what is the point what is the point what else is there what is the point what is th epoint in a sea that one has jumped into. The health deteriorates, the eye go blind, the brain keep turning, ‘‘‘the ear get lost in itself", the limbs go numb, the bOPOPOPOPOPPOOOOOOOOOOody become sick, the headache take over, but the brain continuously spew out itlaments trash till the true end .For what more could ther be but the true horror of being a humn, any human, who must live with a mind that knows not how to be happy, a mind that constantly dissapoints itself, trusting itself less and less. Then there is a but. The mind has an idea, it owants to free itself, it has a siple solution, which it cannot foll  else is there. What is the point.What is the point,  Whathat else is there. point. Wat is the What else is ther what else is there. Wh else is there. the work of a fifteen year old fossil. whatow the next moment, the next time it realixes, the trust drops further. But maybe things could be different, byr its not up to me. I a useless, fifteen years old and already a relic in history, what pint is therelI;m just typing because there is nothing else to do; what point is there to typing what point is there at all. Just inchorerence just typos just