Pouring smoke

I'm going to pour myself on you, then lick it up like cayenne mixed with honey. 
In less than six hours you'll have every bitter sweet memory, 
so spicy and heavy it's hard to tell who's stomach turned first. I will swallow everything about you to satiate my unquenchable thirst, 
before vomiting my self hatred into the most sacred spaces you never knew you had. 
Then I will roll up another cigarette and smoke it.
If you come back for more, then I will know that somewhere there is still hope. 
I'll know I'm a fool, for feeling so hopeless. 
The insides of the vacated spaces formerly inhabited by my intense self hatred will resonate with the vibration of that hope.
The me that is I will resist,
but eventually wither and die, 
and hopefully something new will rise from the ashes. 
Then it will be your turn to pour yourself on me like tar and molten marble, 
chisel me into a form that make's you feel comfortable and stable. 
Set the foundation with chaos and shameless nudity, fill every gap in my armor with serenity, then take the cigarette from my lips and smoke it.