Fair- weather friends

The music stopped playing,
as the curtain went down.
Without prior warning,
they took away your crown.

One day a celebrated poet,
the next a thing of the past.
Success, such a fickle friend,
hardly ever lasts.

I know of the pain
that makes your heart weep,
to find they all deserted you,
while you were sound asleep.

Those cold hearted nitwits,
who care for no one but themselves,
not afraid to show their true colors
to a man already torn in half.

An online poet
is a wonderful thing to be,
as long as you realize in the virtual world
the true nature of people is hard to see.

Fairy tale princesses,
with a heart made of stone,
deranged individuals,
with no life of their own.

They all come to greet you,
with a smile on their face;
behind their back,
the knife already in place.

If you are lucky,
you will find a friend or two,
who truly care and when life
lets you down, will still be there for you.

I know the pain that haunts you,
my brave and pure hearted friend;
for more than the loss of your health,
it's knowing how few really cared in the end.

* I removed the one curse this poem had, to make this piece accessible for those who refrain from entering the explicit zone.

This is about a man named Greg, a poetic genius I met on another poetry site, outside of P&Q. When he became terminally ill, all the "friends" he had made there dropped him like a hot potato and it got to him, really, really bad because he considered these people his true friends. I wrote this a long time ago already, but could not post it any sooner, the subject was too much laden with anger back then.