The speaker feels lost and overlooked. The poem opens with someone stepping into a street with no direction and no real purpose, hoping the world might turn out kinder than expected. It doesn't seem to. Life looks like a party, but the speaker only ever got in because of "you," a person whose name was on the invitation. Other people tolerated the speaker because of that person, not out of real interest.
The tone is quiet, tired and a little resigned. The speaker admits they can't pretend to be content, and finds some escape in "subtle things," small details that offer a private comfort. Still, they sense themselves "fading out and near forgotten," which echoes the title. The last line is blunt and startling: "I want to be a dead poet." It's not entirely clear how literally to take it. It may express a wish to be remembered and valued, as dead poets often are, but it also carries a real sadness about feeling unseen while still alive.