descriptive writing

The frail being sat in awe in the blank room, in a cold sweat, mentally deranged from the voices surrounding him. no way to escape. all he could manage to wonder upon was the strong, cold, once angelic chair that entrapped him on his way to his new incasement. trying to move, but there was no way to break free from the restraints tied around his body. the man had to surrender, to keep the pain from overtaking his broken body. a disease of the mind is what the "professionals" classified it as. the once whimsical room he used to pass, is now the small box he is held in, the only thoughts racing through his not of sound mind; is the room is enclosing around him. just like a lovely serene flower closes around the pistols to keep them from the surrounding world. he has nothing left but the people he sees in his mind, and the voices that keep him company. he repeats to himself..."im not crazy, im not crazy, im not crazy..."

Emotion: insainity