Few poems open as bleakly as this one. The speaker says straight away that they no longer want their life, but the very next line turns on the word "But": wanting to be rid of life is not the same as giving it up. From there the poem shifts from despair toward stubborn purpose. The speaker plans to help others through their pain and to "win this game," which suggests that living on has become a kind of contest.
The tone is defiant. The speaker seems to be talking to someone who hurt them, or who believed they had broken them: "Did you really think you'd taken all my fight?" The poem doesn't say who "you" is, so the reader has to guess. The last line, "I know all of this will soon be through," is open to more than one reading. It could mean the suffering will end, or the struggle with this person will. The mood is tired but determined, with fragile hope under the anger. The short, plain lines make it feel like someone talking themselves into holding on.