I can sit in a jar or block up the street, I’m tasty on toast or a musical treat. From breakfast tables to a band’s late-night plan, What am I?

I'm everyone's pet: dressed, cleansed, but some would say I'm killed repeatedly. I run away from home more than several times a day. Some love me, some miss me, and for an unfortunate some I'm slowly dying away from a disease.

In tiny worlds of make-believe, I stand still yet live. Painted eyes that see no more, soft embrace with hearts to give.

I can start a fire, Or flash from a wire. If you want to make your mark, You'll need a big idea, inspired by a blank. What am I?

I can be many things, great or small. I can even be non-corporeal. I'm not heavy, on the contrary. The dark I scare away, and after too many drinks your head will feel this way