Anger usually feels like a flare, but here it is oddly bureaucratic. The speaker pictures it constructing an office inside their chest, as if it plans to move in and stay. The materials are telling: "lies and quandary." Nothing solid goes into this building, only deceptions and uncertainty, so the anger seems built on shaky ground. The speaker may be lying to themselves, or may feel lied to, and the poem doesn't say which.
The second stanza names the dilemma. Should the speaker "burn," letting the anger out in a blaze, or "sleep with a troubled word," which suggests lying down beside something unresolved and trying to live with it? Both options are uncomfortable. The mood is tense and stuck, a quiet kind of dread rather than an outburst. Because the poem is so short and the choice is left open, we feel the speaker's paralysis: anger is taking up space, and they don't yet know what to do with it.