Answer:
You get many of me, but never enough. After the last one, your life soon will snuff. You may have one of me but one day a year, When the last one is gone, your life disappears.
What grows in winter, dies in summer, and grows roots upward?
Sharp and long, flag of the world. What is it?
A word I know, six letters it contains. Subtract just one and twelve remains.
What is never used unless it's in a tight place?
I'm the source of all emotion but I'm caged in a white prison.