Self-Pity

by D.H. Lawrence;

I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A bird will fall frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.

Right now, the city is alive all hours with festival insanity, and I want to look like what would happen if this look had beautiful illegitimate feral offspring with this one.
Or perhaps just this;

(found here)

My new flat is lovely, by the way.
Fireplaces, a secret room, walls the colour of lemonade and hardwood floors...