Love & Murder

<p>No story of healing. No self-help arc. No light at the end of the tunnel.</p><p>These are poems written on the 6 train heading uptown. Scrawled into napkins at 3 a.m. after too much gin and not enough sleep. This is Harlem with a busted lip. Love that limps. Truth that slurs. And memories that won't stop calling even after you turned your phone off.</p><p><strong>Love and Murder</strong> doesn't offer closure. It doesn't pretend to fix you. Jay Pretsch just hands you a glass still half-full of whatever made you ruin your own life last time. And you better enjoy it because it's all you get.</p><p>So take a sip. Or don't.</p><p>This isn't therapy.</p><p>This is survival.</p>