Nine lines in one unbroken block, under a title that contradicts almost everything they say: «My hate for our love». The word "hate" never appears in the poem. The reader has to work out where it is hiding, and that search leads to the poem's real subject. On the surface, the speaker praises a partner who drives away their "inner demons." Underneath, they are uneasy about how much of themselves depends on that rescue.
The opening claims are extreme. "I love you / More than I could possibly ever love myself" sounds romantic, but it is also a quiet confession, because it sets self-love as a very low bar. The next line sharpens this into a paradox: "It tears me apart inside but you keep me together." Love is both wound and bandage, and the speaker does not try to separate the two. Then comes an image of a chain, with love connecting "my heart to my soul and my soul to my mind." The self is pictured as three parts that do not naturally join. Without the beloved they would drift apart, so "keeping me together" reads less like a figure of speech and more like a description of how fragile the speaker feels.
Then the demons arrive, and the verbs do the work. They "disappear with your presence" and "re-appear to attack" the moment the beloved's "voice and touch" leaves. Disappear and re-appear mirror each other, and the line lengths follow suit. A short, calm line is followed by a long, breathless one, as if the sentence has to run to catch the threat. Voice and touch are physical, sensory things, and the speaker's relief depends on them. By "mind and body," the poem has run through almost the whole self, and all of it is left exposed when the other person goes. The poem does not say this outright, but the hate in the title may come from this dependence rather than from the person.
There is no rhyme and no regular meter. This is free verse that reads like a diary entry or a late-night confession. The longest line is the one about the demons attacking. After it come two plain, almost shy lines: "There is something extraordinary about you / I think it's the magic in your love." The "I think" matters. After so much certainty, the speaker hedges. Repetition does the job rhyme might have done. "Love" returns again and again, and "mind" and "demons" each come back, which gives the poem a circling quality, like a thought that cannot leave its subject.
The last line is the sharpest. Calling the downside the "only" one is an understatement, since the demons described a moment earlier are hardly minor. The split spelling "down fall" may simply be informal writing, but it leaves the word "fall" visible in the line, and the poem is about instability. Then the speaker admits they are "not sure whether the magic effects my demons or myself more." "Magic" has been the word of praise, but placed beside "demons" it forms a supernatural pair, two forces the speaker cannot control. Perhaps the magic banishes the demons. Perhaps it works on the speaker like a spell and makes them need it. The poem refuses to choose and ends on that doubt.
That refusal is what makes the poem worth reading. Plenty of love poems promise that love saves us. This one lets the promise stand for eight lines and then complicates it. It admits gratitude and resentment in the same breath, in plain language a reader can follow. It never says what the demons are, so readers can bring their own meaning to them. The text tells us nothing about who ja.xx is or what prompted the poem, and it does not need to. Its force comes from the voice's admission that the thing that heals it may also be the thing it cannot live without.