Late at night, the speaker lies in bed convinced they have done something wrong, and the guilt arrives before they can say what it is. The title, "What Have I Done Again?", suggests this is a habit rather than a one-off. The speaker tries to argue with the feeling, reminding themselves of the good things: they are breathing, their loved ones are alive, and they have survived "the chaos going on now." But the reasoning doesn't work.
The most striking image is the guilt that "hunts you like the fear of dragons." The speaker admits the fear is of something that doesn't exist, yet it still feels real and threatening. Writing in the second person, "you," gives the poem a slightly distant, self-scolding tone, as if the speaker is talking to themselves. The ending is bleak. With the day over, there is "nothing to dream of but sadness." The mood is quiet, tired, and heavy, the sound of someone who knows they should feel grateful but can't shake the dread.