This is my new short film. I hope you enjoy it.
Her ragged breathing rocked your cradle. You never open your eyes, you're afraid of her caramelized cough and morbid blue watercolor carefully smeared on your palms. Death keeps your rest until you release to the will the thoughts that touched the candles that fill the room with timid trembling light. And you hear how she calculates dry bumblebees:
- One, two, three, four, five, six, seven
Seven weeks she sits near to your bed. She draws a deep seas and a inaccessibility of the heavens.She allows to whisper something inaudible to her, but understandable to Somnambulists that are leaning against the roughened wall. Their faces have imprints of your hands, such endless blue
When the rustling of the last words will be learned, Death will lead them away. She will give each of them a handful of seeds They will grow seeds in their lungs. You'll forget about Somnambulists when she would bring them out of the room.
You will forget all of them, except one He will leave in your hand a lock of his hair And you'll stealthily crying blue tears, until Death don't come back to the head of your bedside to calculate the dead bumblebees and draw the depth of the seas and the inaccessibility of heaven on your hands.