With lines from “From Prison to the Frontlines: Thousands of Russian Convicts Sent To Fight In Ukraine” By Simon Ostrovsky, a Pulitzer Center reporting project. 

Trapped in a room unfamiliar to me. 

Hundreds of roommates I've only just met. 

Cold, dark and dying.

 Treated harshly like dogs in a kennel, spoken to like scum. 

A small piece of bread once per day, hunger becomes my friend. 

Thrown into a field,

a suit of mud protects me from the environment. 

A block of metal placed in my arms, technology with little instruction.

Storm trooper is my new name, that's it. 

No James, Jack, Cameron, or Alex. 

Just stormtroopers, that is all I know.

Men that looked just like me stumbling, 

screaming and clawing at my feet a language I cannot understand. 

When he came to, his leg was gone, 

and he was a prisoner never to be seen again. 

So we go. 

We get there. 

They're shooting.

 Everything is brutal, real brutal. 

Pierced by a bullet the Russians take me back. 

No more crisp air. 

No more gunpowder clinging to my skin. 

Just the smell of despair trapped back behind bars.