Answer:
I can be short and sometimes hot. When displayed, I rarely impress.
Always wax, yet always wane: I melt, succumbed to the flame. Lighting darkness, with fate unblest, I soon devolve to shapeless mess.
What goes up but never comes down?
What is the thing which, once poured out, cannot be gathered again?
I have a hundred legs, but cannot stand. I have a long neck, but no head. I cannot see. I'm neat and tidy as can be.
What is so fragile that saying its name breaks it?