The speaker has asked someone a question, probably about love or a relationship, and received only one word in return: "Maybe." The poem is the speaker's frustrated reaction to that non-answer. The questions come quickly, one after another. Hasn't the other person had enough time to decide? Do they really need more? Or is "maybe" just a way of keeping the speaker hanging on to hope that isn't real?
The anger peaks in the blunt line "Your a bastard," but the speaker quickly softens it with a tired, almost sarcastic follow-up: the person probably knew that already. The last lines carry the sharpest hurt. The speaker believes the other person understood exactly what "maybe" would do, that it would work like an anchor, holding the speaker in place instead of letting them move on. The mood is bitter and raw, mixing anger with vulnerability, since the speaker is clearly still hoping even while resenting that hope.