My Friend the Author

She was my friend for fifteen seconds
And I spoke every ill imaginable---
But she was my friend.
My pride is so arrogant
And is why I am poor.
I am as good as a grandmaster
But a villain in my heart persists
Wherever that sore is touched.
I backbite my dad;
I slander honest people;
I get angry at all the world.
Only so far as that sore is touched
And my wound is incurable.
And it aches and agonizes 
Every sorrowful burden is passed---
I chose a very miserable career
Knowing I am better than a bestseller
But not noticed by anyone.
And so I am cruel to a good woman
Who was my friend for fifteen seconds
And I can't help myself.
Would the success I get gain me more humility?
Or make me like another Arrogant Author I often run into?